He remembered first meeting Ryan- it was an interview, probablt the tenth out of a dozen personal assistant applicants that he’d narrowed down from the hundreds of application forms and resumes he’d been sent. In all honesty, he hadn’t read most of them, and towards the end, he realised he only had about three to interview and needed to flesh out his options, so he picked the people with alliterative names because he felt a kind of kindred spirit with them. That’s probably how Ryan Ready ended up in the group- Brendon Blake’s pure laziness and unwillingness and inability to concentrate on something so boring for more than ten minutes without hunting for something more interesting and self indulgent. Even during the interviews (that, to the dismay of his father, he insisted take place in the living room of one of his penthouse apartments), he sat there drinking ridiculously expensive wine, scoring applicants down when they didn’t accept the offer (he didn’t want to spend a lot of his time with someone boring and uptight). Funnily enough, Ryan Ready sort of fitted the bill of those last two qualities, but he accepted the wine, and made Brendon feel easy and comfortable, like he wasn’t being judged for the first time all day. Even though he was wealthy and famous and sort of intimidatingly attractive, Ryan seemed to show no signs of either silently judging him for his overindulgence or any boring traits like over-the-top obedience. Plus, he was pretty. Brendon decided immediately during the first thirty seconds of meeting him that this was his new PA.

Ryan asked a question no other applicant brought up- what happened to Brendon’s previous assistant? When those almost hesitant words reached his ears, Brendon’s mouth twitched and he tried not to smirk. He answered a question with a question and had asked Mr. Ready what he thought had happened to his previous employee. Ryan had responded along the lines of saying it couldn’t be problems with salary (Brendon was quite a generous man when it came down to it, but then, he was rich, how generous could he really be), and the employee wouldn’t have quit such a prestigious job. Brendon was also known to be a charming and entertaining man, so he doubted the employee quit- so he must have been fired. Right so far, Brendon had responded, pouring himself another glass of wine after topping Ryan’s up. Then, to his surprise, Ryan said something incredibly bold- People say you fired him because you slept together and then got bored of him. Stunned, he almost choked on his wine and had to straighten up. That almost accusation was he last thing he expected coming from this polite man’s mouth.

Brendon had paused, looking at Ryan from over his wine glass, eyebrows raising minutely as he took in a short, amused breath, regaining his composure. He pursed his lips to quell a smirk for a moment before taking a sip, glancing down so his eyelashes cast long shadows over his cheekbones in the soft glow of the room- the apartment light was warm and golden, but dim, so the corners of the room were swathed with shadows and the usually bright red of the velvet sofa was muted to a deep scarlet. Shifting, as if restless, he exhaled in a way that was almost exasperated, and set his glass aside before leaning back and considering the man before him again, and the words that had just left his mouth. ”Slept with my assistant?” He had repeated, feigning shock. Though this rumour was strictly true, it was no surprise to him that people thought it to be fact. Ryan looked almost ill, clearly kicking himself for costing himself a career. Brendon had laughed softly, shaking his head. ”Don’t clam up now, c’mon.” Ryan recovered only a little to say people consider you something of a playboy, sir. People weren’t wrong. Brendon frowned just for a fraction of a second, wondering exactly what his public image was these days. Maybe his father was right- maybe he was a liability.

Brendon found it fitting to just laugh it off and sweep past it, and in another ten minutes their conversation was over, Brendon shook Ryan’s hand and told him he’d get a call- or not- by Monday. Not even a few hours passed and Brendon had called him, grinning the whole time, bringing news that Mr. Ryan Ready was now his personal assistant, congratulations, you start on Monday, you’re technically underqualified but you’re a Virgo so you’ll figure it out, I’ll see you tomorrow. Ryan barely got a word out and Brendon got bored and hung up, then decided to go out to dinner that evening with his father to see if he could smooth over any bumps in their relationship. He kind of needed that inheritance. The next day, he and Ryan met again, and from then, Ryan had proved himself both a capable assistant and enjoyable company. They found it easy to be around eachother, and in less than a week, if Ryan hadn’t been working for Brendon, Brendon would have considered the two of them friends.

He also thought he was incredibly attractive and wondered whether it was too soon to sleep with him. In Brendon’s life, it was usually never too soon. Ryan was definitely into him, he wasn’t stupid; he was both observant and an Aries and that meant he wouldn’t tread lightly. Brendon had never tread lightly around anyone- that’s usually how he ended up in so much trouble. Either way, one night, Brendon was lonely- and even though he had countless friends he could call, he only wanted the company of one person, and they were at the top of his call list because Brendon never answered his phone. Calling back at 3am, to his surprise, Ryan picked up pretty quickly, sounding very irritated. What do you want? ”Wow, chill the fuckin’ attitude. I want some soda, I’m out. Get me some?” Brendon sounded hopeful, and he wandered out through double doors onto the balcony, lighting a cigarette while he held his phone between his head and his shoulder. He then put his lighter in his jacket pocket and took a drag, listening intently to Ryan obviously getting ready on the other end of the phone. "Is that a yes? You’re the best. Love ya.” He hung up, and spent the fifteen minutes between that phone call and Ryan’s arrival at the apartment out on the balcony, reading and not responding to texts.

Ryan had to live very close to Brendon, so it did only take fifteen minutes for him to go and get some six packs of soda and then drop them off. Brendon heard him come in, and walk out onto the balcony, but he didn’t turn around until Ryan was behind him. Slowly turning, he leaned back, resting his elbows on the edge of the balcony and tilting his head to the side. Extending himself in a languid, lithe stretch, he then stood up straight, biting his lip to stop a smirk. ”So good of you to come at 3am. What more could I ask for from an assistant, huh?” He paused, offering Ryan his second cigarette since the phone call. ”Hey, you should just crash here. Ever slept with silk sheets before?”

Straight out of a university that was both not very widely admired and had given him a rather useless English degree, Ryan realised he did not have many career avenues ahead of him. He surveyed countless Starbucks barista applications - because that's where all his classmates went, after all, unless they holed up in their parents' basement and transcribed or digitalized documents from the comfort of their childhood home - but it all felt so... below him. Of course, there was the fact that most everyone started a career this way, with some shitty retail job that paid off rent and gradually built on savings until you could actually pave your own path. But Ryan was impatient and his full-ride had gotten him so far without any real expenses to worry about; now that he'd been in student housing long enough for his dad to forget about him, probably, he had to figure out something.

And then some Forbes motherfucker was dumb enough to open applications to normal people to help deal with his son, or whatever. Well, maybe the son was the reason for that kind of liberty, actually. Ryan did know who Brendon Blake was before he read the application and did his own research - he'd seen magazine covers that never seemed to capture him in a negative light to match their disapproving headlines in the way that they could always make the most attractive celebrity ugly. No, out of thousands of pictures they must have taken from paparazzi, any variation of "Brendon Blake Possibly Fucking Himself Over and Ruining Any Chance at an Inheritance" seemed to accompany Brendon grinning charmingly at whomever he was courting, or catching the camera and winking just on time, or - and this was about as 'messy' as they could make him out to be - leaning over a club's bar counter looking slightly dazed but sweeter because of it. He was lucky he didn't have a bad angle, because then there was no actual evidence of the real fuckery that must take place in his life (unless you looked away from the enticing smile on his face to the glass in his hand or the person hanging off his shoulders or any number of questionable things taking place behind him).

Anyway, the application itself was easy. Ryan knew how to make himself look good despite having about as many skills as a sixth grader with a reasonable literacy level. He could cook, ish, he knew how to purchase things from a goddamn cashier, he had some amount of interpersonal skills... and for good measure he noted that he had extensive knowledge of how to use Microsoft Office. The job description was, ironically, nondescript, after all. He supposed even Boyd didn't know what the fuck his kid was going to request from a glorified servant, or what said glorified servant would have to be thrown under the bus for. Ryan sort of accepted that part of it - he might have to rescue Brendon from his impulsive habits one day, either taking responsibility or getting him out of there altogether. That was about as risky as a job that was close to three figures got, though, so he considered himself endlessly lucky that the standard for Brendon's personal assistant position were so ridiculously low (or, maybe they were indeed reasonable, but easy to lie about).

Ryan would have done just about anything for independence at that point so he applied and was miraculously called in. The setting was beyond uncomfortable but Ryan was familiar with how to conceal how he really felt - and, eventually, that extended from pretending he preferred Brendon's personal lounge to acting like he didn't think Brendon was sort of kind of a little bit crazy. Most spectacularly, he accepted wine from him simply because it seemed rude not to, and Ryan even pressed the rim to his lips as if he really intended on drinking any of it. Had it been anyone else conducting the interview, Ryan would know such a question was a test maybe on his responsibility or something else; this, though, was Brendon Blake, and it was probably just a glass of wine. Despite not drinking it very much at all, Ryan gathered some sort of courage throughout the interview, Brendon's naturally positive response to him making him feel accomplished for whatever reason (and now the magazine phenomenon was starting to make sense). He instantly regretted it, but he opted to try to confirm or deny the truth of a very popular rumour floating around.

For the first few seconds he regretted it, and then Brendon seemed to come to terms with the inquiry, like he'd developed some newfound respect for Ryan's forwardness - or he just found it funny. Either way, Ryan stayed looking dumbly remorseful, nodding when Brendon tested the reality of the situation and then immediately explaining himself using Brendon's public image. He never got a full answer for that, and Ryan had always figured maybe his memorability with that complete fuckup was what gave him the job. Maybe Brendon just forgot everyone else who was far more qualified and wasn't just having mostly a normal conversation with Brendon the entire time... actually, yeah, that was believably impressive to the rich kid. In any case, 'the rich kid' wasn't so bad. Ryan had entirely misjudged him, thinking him some asshole who could just wear any mask well. He looked good, sure, whatever, but he was also endlessly talented, clever and witty in unconventional ways Ryan wouldn't have guessed. Of course, he had to catch Brendon in his element during passing moments to truly pick up on these things - when he bragged about them openly it didn't seem as extraordinary.

Most worryingly, Ryan found himself to be developing something of a puppy crush on him. It was stupid - maybe he was secretly just into that 'boss-underling' cliche that every other romcom went off of. But Brendon wasn't really a boss as much as he was a super demanding friend, and although Ryan compulsively called him 'sir' or 'Mr. Blake,' they were never formal with one another for long. Ryan actually eventually got comfortable with talking to him just like anyone else, even showing when he was annoyed by him (at the risk of losing his money, which was shockingly something he wasn't afraid of given the nature of their relationship by now) - particularly when he answered phone calls in the middle of the goddamn night. Wow, chill the fuckin’ attitude. I want some soda, I’m out. Get me some? He hadn't been asleep, of course, because he majored in English and was therefore vampiric, but Ryan just didn't feel like making the trip to the nearest 7/11 sometimes. Whatever. The $2.50 he'd inevitably pay for a case of Dr. Pepper was reimbursed exponentially.

Ryan pushed aside all the writing he wasn't doing and the guitar he hadn't been playing and his third watch of The Machinist to go complete this very crucial task, and Brendon got the affirmative message he'd meant to convey with all the shuffling sounds. Ryan rushed out in all his button-up clothing and no touch-ups on his appearance otherwise because it was fucking three a.m. and Brendon was probably only going to see him for ten seconds anyway, and he was at the destination with his delivery in almost fifteen. He nearly just set them at the door and left but then, since Brendon had no awareness of his surroundings, he'd never notice it, so Ryan approached him on the balcony, setting the case on the ledge within Brendon's reach. So good of you to come at 3am. What more could I ask for from an assistant, huh? Ryan's gaze naturally dropped to the floor as Brendon caught his lip - but not before he'd already stared during a long stretch - which was, admittedly, a new habit he'd picked up in Brendon's company. Usually he didn't present himself so shyly, but this was better than looking, like, lustful, or whatever.

"No problem," he said, rather contained for someone who'd just semi-snapped at Brendon over the phone. In person, it was somewhat more difficult to be short to him, for reasons Ryan suspected involved the way he could easily look so goddamned hurt. Or, on the flip side, completely smug and self-assured. It was either heartbreaking or infuriating. Hey, you should just crash here. With this offer, he looked at the cigarette presented to him skeptically, identifying the brand and comforting himself with the fact that it was in fact not just carefully disguised weed. He didn't want to take a cigarette and say no to staying over. But he also didn't want to not take the cigarette, so Ryan compromised and took it, then said, very eloquently, something like 'uh' under his breath. He turned aside, avoidant, and hung his chest over the ledge to take a drag, studying the city. Ever slept with silk sheets before? Ryan looked at him and laughed softly, smoke escaping towards Brendon, and then furrowed his brow with suspicion. He abandoned formalities for once to level with him. "No, Brendon. I don't think I intend to, either."

Yeah, he shouldn't have accepted the cigarette. It was a menthol, too, fuck. Ryan felt kind of like an asshole, so he didn't turn tail and leave, as much as he wanted to. Since it was past two a.m. and these were the hours of the day when people took chances, Ryan considered Brendon for a moment, another drag from the corner of his mouth, before speaking again. "Were you actually out, or were you just lonely?" It's not like he'd never been called for not-very-legitimate requests before, but Brendon hadn't been quite as inviting. "You could just ask me to come over."

Brendon had four older siblings, each more responsible and more publically refined than Brendon ever hoped or wanted to be. He knew that his father wanted him to be more like them; his mother, Grace, didn’t much mind, she just always shook her head and tutted in disappointment to support her husband as Boyd berated their soon for whatever dumb shit he’d done most recently. There was Matt, and then Mason, his older brothers; Matt was next in line to take the reins of the company (Brendon didn’t even know what it was, just that his father owned it and that’s why he had a ridiculously substantial inheritance to look forward to- if he didn’t blow it with his father before he got his hands on it, the likelihood of which was increasing every day), and Mason was a self-described entrepreneur, more like Brendon than Matt but still way too uptight and self righteous for them to get along too well. Brendon didn’t talk to either of his brothers much. Then there were his two older sisters, Kyla and Kara, who had started a joint make-up/fitness company of some kind that, again, Brendon didn’t care enough to ask about. He preferred their company to the rest of his family, but again. He hardly saw them. That left Brendon, the troublesome child, the nuisance, the liability, the one that Boyd wasn’t proud of and the liability he needed to sort out if he wanted to keep their family’s relatively clean-slate image. Brendon knew some secrets about the Blake family that would cause endless scandals, and all it would take would too much alcohol and the wrong people for those to slip out of their youngest son’s mouth. Whenever Brendon met up with the rest of his family, all he got was ‘friendly advice’ and ‘gentle reprimands’. He avoided them as much as possible without distancing himself too much from that at-risk inheritance.

In last ditch efforts to clean him up a little, Boyd had recommended his son hire a PA, to act as a glorified babysitter/servant to make sure Brendon didn’t step too far out of line that it was irreversible. There was no way he was going to be another Matt or Mason, but the problem with appearing on the cover of magazines every month was that not all publicity was good publicity for someone like Boyd Blake. Brendon had, typically, scorned the idea, accusing his father of just wanting someone to stop him having fun and snitching on him to his parents. This was, to certain extents, true; but Boyd laughed it off and was smooth enough to convince Brendon that a PA would just make having fun easier. Glorified servant. Brendon was certainly used to being in charge and commanding people, but somebody he personally employed? The possibilities were endless. His first PA was a disappointment who did that job that his father wanted to do- not buy drugs for him, reccomend he miss a party every so often, keep him relatively in check while behind the disguise of being friendly and helpful. Brendon got bored of having someone breathing down his neck and fired the guy, citing irreconcilable differences like it was a divorce and a difficult working relationship.

Unfortunately, Boyd got back on his case to hire another one, this time giving him the freedom to interview and pick his assistant himself, without heavy-handed guidance from his father. This was a big mistake, because Brendon didn’t have a professional bone in his body, so it took him half an hour to trash 90% of applications before even reading them, spilling wine on some, and picking the rest based on names alone. Then, the interview process- completely informal, in Brendon’s living space, complete with vintage red wine that cost a neat few hundred dollars, bought and consumed just because it was expensive. In honesty, Brendon preferred the cheaper wine, but felt sort of dirty drinking it, like he should ditch the Alexander McQueen, too, and throw his Versace off the balcony of his penthouse. So he was something of a sycophant- he had everything he could ever want, it was in his nature to be over and self indulgent. His favourite applicant, Ryan Ready, was apparently too good at pretending Brendon wasn’t a complete nutcase that he even won the man himself over and got the job in just a few hours (and the only reason it took that long was because Brendon was obliged out of courtesy to see the remaining applicants). After he’d shooed the last one out, he lounged back into the plush velvet of the sofa and called him, laughing fluidly at Ryan’s surprise. You start tomorrow, he’d said, find somewhere to live close to mine, you’ll be able to afford it. And that was that.

Brendon liked to pretend he didn’t care what people thought of him, but nevertheless he found himself wondering whether Ryan considered him a spoilt brat. Maybe that observation would sadly be true, but still- he never gave much thought to have people perceived him, usually, but since this guy would have full access to pretty much his entire life and timetable, he wasn’t just another nameless face. He was Ryan Ready, his personal assistant, underqualified but surprisingly good at his job, English major, apparent guitar player (they’d talked about it before, but Brendon could tell before he even mentioned from the callouses of Ryan’s hands). Brendon liked him, and that was more than he could say for most of the characters he tended to associate with. Behind the party animal was- well, a party animal, but he had a heart and a conscience that some of his rich and famous ‘friends’ (who didn’t really qualify as ‘friends’- he was pretty sure his father paid some of them to stick around him) didn’t have. Ryan and Brendon had settled quite easily around eachother within the first day, and a week later, when they talked it was just like they were close friends, even if Ryan called him sir and Mr. Blake.

This odd, quickly developed friendship meant that Ryan was comfortable enough that he wouldn’t lose his job that he snapped to his boss on the phone, clearly a little annoyed that Brendon demanded his full attention at 3am. Brendon was about to pull the ‘I’ll cut your bonus’ card, but he heard Ryan’s compliant movements in the background and settled against the balcony edge, satisfied and taking another drag from his cigarette just as Ryan hung up. Honestly, he already had soda- coca-cola, anyway, so he hoped Ryan would bring Dr. Pepper or something. In all honesty, it was just 3am and he wanted company, and he was in the slightly tipsy mood to take chances, even more so than he did when he was sober. Fleeting scenarios played through his overactive imagination, one starting up just as Ryan set the sodas on his side to announce his arrival. Brendon grinned, shaking his head free of thought and turning his attention instead to his PA. No problem. Somewhat amazed that Ryan didn’t look like a corpse, he shrugged one shoulder, pulling free a can of Dr. Pepper and cracking it open after Ryan had taken his offer of a shared cigarette.

No, Brendon. I don’t think I intend to, either. Affronted, he turned away, glancing out at the skyline and shrugging off his suit jacket, placing his can on his edge of the balcony after he’d taken a sip. ”It’s fuckin’ divine. And I don’t use that word lightly,” Brendon warned, turning back to watch Ryan lean his chest over the balcony and smoke the remainder of his cigarette. It was 3am, and Brendon was just a little tipsy, and his heart was thrumming with a want that emerged from nowhere, but made itself known pretty quickly. He glanced back out into the night, but then turned and leaned his back against the balcony edge instead, staring back through the curtains that were half-drawn closed into his warmly lit apartment. He realised belatedly that he didn’t want to be alone tonight. He wanted to share that bed with someone. Were you actually out, or were you just lonely? Sharply, he snapped his head in Ryan’s direction, his eyes narrowing and his eyebrows furrowing with uncertainty and initial offence. ”I don’t get lonely.” Came his unconvincing response, as he remembered that he’d left his glass of wine back in the apartment, and became preoccupied with that thought halfway through his reply.

You could just ask me to come over. Brendon laughed, his eyes even crinkled at he corners, and he reached a hand up to fix his hair despite having done nothing to have messed it up in the past few hours. ”Yeah, right. That isn’t very professional, is it?” He mused, taking another sip from his can and closing his eyes as the still, warm evening was interrupted by a gentle, cool breeze. Turning towards Ryan slightly, he unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, and bit his lip hard when he realised he really didn’t want to spend the night alone. A week, he noted in his head- he’d managed to last a week without coming onto someone. He hadn’t done it yet, per say, but it was helpful to count on anticipation; his urges tended to rule his head, and if only Ryan had stood a little closer he was 90% sure they’d be in his bed right now. That’s usually how it went with Brendon. Oh well. ”Would you even say yes if I asked you to just come over?”

Sometimes Ryan thought he might be in over his head. Sure, Brendon wasn't a particularly threating presence even if he was incredibly powerful and wealthy just by his birthright. It was his family that was intimidating; what if Ryan did eventually have to accompany Brendon to something more serious than concerts he attended or clubs he frequented, or to retrieve his takeout, whatever... He'd have to meet several of the richest people in the world, all with net worths he couldn't earn if he worked three different lives. Brendon didn't talk about them much beyond petty complaints, but Ryan figured there was some sort of alienation there - hell, it probably even caused whatever fallout put Brendon into his current position. It was worrying in that, if they could affect someone of his natural character, they'd definitely break Ryan. So he was passably qualified for his job until it came to people other than who he directly worked for.

The more comfortable Ryan got with him the more he started to consider basic duties just missions of friendship. If he had to walk with Brendon to shoo away strangers who gravitated towards a public figure, then he'd talk to him and suggest cafés and laugh, not quite fitting the typical steely-eyed scowl-wearing bodyguard figure. Then, maybe he didn't really have to look like that since he wasn't defending Brendon or anything. He probably couldn't in any scenario, anyway, considering he was about as scrawny as him, just taller. He did a good job of keeping Brendon from saying stupid things in public, especially not to anyone reporting, and maintained his social media from spiralling too far out of control, ensured he didn't make any connections with people who had even worse images than him or bad histories. All this alongside the frequent favors and constant compliance probably made Ryan more bearable - plus, he wasn't overly controlling, just playfully nagging as a friend would. He wasn't sure that there was any more effective ways to go about any of it, as Brendon would probably just outright laugh at him if he formally went 'sir, you are required to delete that Trump slander for your own safety.' That kind of thing he usually let slide anyway.

Soon after arriving, Brendon was freeing himself from the confines of his suit jacket, and Ryan gave a sideways smile at the predictable sight of him in a full suit in the earliest, nonexistent hours of the morning. He would've asked why, but the only answer would probably be 'why not.' Or Brendon asking why his go to was still the old thrift store button-ups/vests/scarves/trousers/dress shoes combo when he could now afford high quality. Screw that. Everything Ryan made went to building a studio. It’s fuckin’ divine. And I don’t use that word lightly. Ryan distantly wondered what he had to compare it to, or if silk was his version of linens. It's not like Ryan grew up considerably poor, but it was easy to say that the longer his mom was gone, the more meals became plain rice with whatever he could scavenge from the backs of cabinets. He was a little shocked Brendon wasn't a complete jerk, considering Ryan knew for a fact that he himself would have ended up a gigantic, world-ending asshole if he had as much money at his disposal. In fact, it was sort of impressive how friendly Brendon was. But that was a long mental tangent to go on just based off of some silk sheets, so Ryan distracted himself from who was clearly his new obsession by looking off at the skyline.

His interrogation came from a place of innocence even if he'd said it somewhat maliciously - that was just Ryan's nature. Brendon, however, didn't take it quite well, snapping towards Ryan with startling immediacy. I don’t get lonely. Ryan looked at him, suddenly a little more visibly awake, and tried not to stare too long while he contemplated this. Sounded like Brendon wasn't so sure of himself. Of course he'd been lonely - and Ryan was insensitive to approach it that way in the first place. He had all these people around him at all times that it wasn't obvious initially, but very few of them volunteered to be with Brendon when it didn't involve him paying for their entertainment. If they did hang out with him in their free time, then they expected exchanges eventually, not just companionship. People wanted to be with Brendon for the benefits about 80% of the time, with little regard for how interesting a person he actually was. Ryan was exceptionally fortunate to be given as much time as he'd had with Brendon, come to think of it. Instead of responding, Ryan just nodded understandingly after a moment, meeting Brendon's eyes only briefly before he turned away again. Felt like he should leave that comment alone, anyway.

Moments later he felt ten times better because Brendon was laughing again, those little laugh lines by his eyes becoming animated and charming as ever. Ryan watched him with a tiny smile on his face, betraying his vaguely cynical manner of speaking, and barely felt the cigarette burning to the filter between his fingers. Yeah, right. That isn’t very professional, is it? "Then say I'm off-duty," Ryan offered quietly, with no pause for thought. "I'm not paid to be your friend. I chose that part." 'Friend' echoed in his head, 'cause it seemed like Brendon was sort of threatening that label, but he stuck to it anyway. Worse, Brendon built off of the removal of his jacket by starting just barely on his shirt, and Ryan felt obligated to glance away, finally crushing the burning filter in his hand against the balcony ledge and pushing himself off of it to stand upright.

Would you even say yes if I asked you to just come over? Ryan's hands wormed their way into his pockets and he shrugged, brow furrowing just slightly with concern. "You make it sound so absurd." In any case he made a show of thinking it through, exhaling and looking up at the sky for a count of Mississippi. "My visiting hours officially end at 4 a.m., so you just made it, yeah. I would've come over," he said with a grin in his voice, trying to ease some of the tension he'd accidentally stirred. But it was hard to keep it that way, 'cause now Brendon had raised some red flags that made Ryan a little sad on his behalf; clearly he didn't think his company alone was enough to get someone he cared about here. He tried to work in that sentiment naturally... which was evidently hard to do without sounding ridiculously corny. "Yeah, you don't need, like, a bribe, or a cover story. You're enough, you know?" Ryan shrugged again, dismissive, and he slowly turned on his heel, feeling dumb. Brendon didn't call him up here for any of that, obviously, but. He genuinely hadn't known how alone Brendon felt before - even if it wasn't truly desperate or life-threatening he didn't deserve to feel it at all. "I'm wondering 'why me' when you probably could've called, like, the Queen, though." Joking, and exaggerating, but Ryan meant that point entirely.

Though he was definitely a misfit amongst his family of haughty characters and superiority, Brendon never claimed to want a normal life, never droned on about how he wasn’t supposed to be rich or famous, et cetera- he did feel comfortable lounging on velvet sofas in suits that cost several times more than ordinary people’s rent, drinking ridiculously expensive wines and champagnes in restaurants where no bottle cost less than a hundred dollars, enjoying the company of A-listers and being invited to prestigious events despite the fact he wasn’t even strictly an entertainer. Brendon was just rich, but maybe he just got out a lot- he was apparently easy to befriend, even easier to bed if the rumours were true, and wherever he went, trouble and drama and cameras tended to follow, so he always added a little spice to usually boring occasions. These didn’t always end up in praise, and often after high-profile nights out his alleged behaviour was reported on in a spiteful light and a hateful sting, criticising him as the disgrace of the family and much too morally flexible; though, no matter what the media tried to do, spat on his name and stamped over his image, he somehow came out smelling of roses.

Brendon was independent and capable of getting himself both in and out of trouble with relative ease- to get into trouble, he just behaved as normal, and to get out, he flashed a few enticing smiles, said a few charming words that obscured whatever he’d got up to into insignificance, and it was like he had a clean slate. Well. Not to Boyd. Brendon pushed his luck all the time with his mother and father (his mother usually didn’t do anything beyond shaking her head disapprovingly), but he wasn’t stupid, and at this point was uneasily aware of the fragile state of his relationship with his father. The last thing he wanted to do was bite the hand that fed him, so he fell in line just enough that he would stop breathing down his neck for as long as it took for him to get involved in his next big scandal. It wasn’t as if Brendon was without talent- though he rarely demonstrated it due to lack of opportunity, he was an incredibly talented vocalist and musician, skills he demonstrated on any of his dozen favourite guitars or the grand piano in his penthouse. Nobody had ever really showed this much appreciation, though; his father had once told him that if he was as skillsd on the piano as he was with keeping his image clean, he’d skip Brendon’s older siblings and hand the company straight to him. Brendon didn’t respond, just continued playing.

As much as he’d scorned the idea of getting a second irritating babysitter, Ryan was easy to be around and quickly became a source of entertainment in the life of an easily bored sycophant who needed constant stimulation or he’d probably trash a hotel room. Ryan was more like a friend (though still a glorified servant), even if Brendon knew that if he didn’t pay him he wouldn’t stick around for long. Nobody ever really did, and Brendon just tired himself out thinking about it. He didn’t like to wallow in self-pity- he had everything he ever wanted, what was the point? Even so, only a week into their working relationship and Ryan was comfortable calling him by his first name, interspersed with ‘sir’ or ‘Mr. Blake’ just for the sake of feigning some kind of professionalism. Brendon wondered if Ryan had bragged to his friends about meeting him, or had told them how much of a pompous, irritating ass he was. Honestly, he didn’t much care- curiosity just brought up the questions in his mind, which was odd, because usually he didn’t care what people thought of him as long as it was about him. Any publicity was good publicity. His father would not agree.

Though he had countless ‘friends’, Brendon’s instinct was, rather shamefully, to call his paid assistant and think up a lame excuse for his company close to 3am. Luckily, Ryan was compliant even when Brendon thought it would be a lost cause due to the initial snap he was greeted by from over the phone. Ryan brought the sodas Brendon was requested, and though he quickly internally registered that he wasn’t even thirsty, he felt obliged to crack open a can away if only to show some kind of alleviation for Ryan’s commitment to the role. He wondered when it would be appropriate to start asking him to buy drugs for him to save him the hassle. Before he got chance to consider that properly, Ryan had touched on a sore spot seemingly out of nowhere and Brendon recoiled in self-defence before he had time to steel himself and brush it off with a laugh. Of course he got lonely- even with, in the grandest cliché, almost a new lover every evening in Brendon’s life, his encounters were fleeting and forgettable and lacked substance- leaving him fulfilled during but not after. All feelings of closeness and companionship quickly fell to dust as the door swung closed on the way out. It was the only time he ever felt vulnerable.

He had friends, too, and family- but 99% of his supposed friends were fake as all hell and his family was irritating and patronising and treated him like a problem that needed to be solved, a wrinkle in the cloth that needed to be smoothed out. Ryan was only his employee, sure, but he seemed genuine, and he hadn’t let him down so far, so- that’s why he called Ryan. He didn’t feel like he had anybody else to call who would answer, nevermind come over at 3am. Over his dead body would he admit that, though. Then say I’m off-duty. Brendon laughed, tapping his fingers absently against the aluminium of his can. "You’ll be off-duty when I’m dead, babe.” Came his reply, grinning effortlessly through his words, ignoring the inappropriate nature of his pet name. I’m not paid to be your friend. I chose that part. Huh. Brendon mulled this over as he shrugged off his jacket and quarter-way unbuttoned his shirt, finding that statement unfortunately hard to believe. ”So, with that in mind, can I cut your pay?” He tested, raising an eyebrow and tilting his head to the side to watch Ryan’s reaction.

You make it sound so absurd. ”You’re my employee, I’m meant to be professional. Believe it or not, this is me trying my fuckin’ hardest,” Brendon murmured, amused, leaning his side against the balcony ledge and meeting Ryan’s eyes, just before his PA glanced out at the skyline. He followed his eyes, and blinked; he’d seen this view so many times it didn’t seem extraordinary anymore, but when he studied it, the appeal kind of came back. It was a weird feeling- so high above everyone else, almost on a pedestal, but so isolated. Looking down at the chaos and beauty of the city. Something dumbly poetic crossed his tongue but he kept his mouth shut and his thoughts in, where they belonged. 3am was the time to take chances, sure, but not a time to be completely stupid. My visiting hours officially end at 4 a.m., so you just made it, yeah. I would've come over. Brendon half-smiled. ”Sweet.”

Yeah, you don't need, like, a bribe, or a cover story. You're enough, you know? Almost stunned, Brendon’s easy, bright smile quickly faded, and instead he was left looking a little dumbfound by the apparent genuity of his tone. Opening his mouth to respond, he found himself without words for once in his life, he so he just laughed without breath, moving his hands automatically down to his shirt again to pull another few buttons from their loops. It was a warm night dispersed with breezes few and far between, so he had some excuse- but mostly he now had a goal so typical of him and he knew exactly how to achieve it. Brendon had done this before. I'm wondering 'why me' when you probably could've called, like, the Queen, though. Shrugging, Brendon picked up his can of Dr. Pepper- half left- and gestured with his head for them both to go back inside his apartment, leaving the remaining cans out on the balcony, quickly forgotten. ”The Queen wouldn’t take my shit,” Brendon responded after a moment, setting his suit jacket carefully down on one of the sofas and then giving Ryan his full attention, his dark eyes lingering and his eyelashes casting shadows against his cheekbones again. He exhaled, and left his lips slightly parted, and then he folded his arms loosely across his chest after setting down his can on a mahogany coffee table. ”So, are you in a rush? Got anyone to get home to?”

While familiar with the whole 'opposites attract' premise, Ryan honestly couldn't believe how drawn he was to Brendon considering their differences. It was extravagance, sheer talent, exuberance, charisma, all of that, versus Ryan's kind of awkward stumbly self. He wasn't being modest, either, it was just the truth that they were from opposite ends of the universe. He'd have no way of understanding anything about Brendon or why he did the things he did if he didn't a.) naturally possess a knack for empathy, or b.) have some background knowledge on Brendon's life and who his upbringing involved. The latter just made every ridiculous stunt he performed sort of rational, somehow. Plus, Ryan could somewhat relate, to an extent; it's not that his dad was super successful and therefore spited him because of his lack of (what his father considered) success, which was the case with Brendon. It's just that Ryan's dad had sort of quit on him, too, abandoned him as a lost cause. In different, less active ways, sure, and therefore Ryan didn't have to suffer the emotional toll that he assumed Brendon had, but still. He could imagine.

Similarly, Ryan attracted none of the attention or lifestyle that Brendon easily did. Even if Brendon hadn't come from the family he did, Ryan was fairly certain he'd he wildly popular and well-loved anyway by anyone he came across. Ryan, on the other hand, could pass through life rather invisibly if he wanted to, and oftentimes he actually did. He had made as many close friends in his lifetime as he could count on one hand, and anyone who wasn't considered close didn't bother to hang out with him regularly anyway (or, more accurately, Ryan pushed them away out of a lack of patience). He couldn't imagine having the expansive social circle that Brendon had, nor could he imagine people dreaming about him, dedicating Twitter accounts to him, strangers making images of him their lockscreen. Then again, with as many people as there were that had a superficial obsession with Brendon or the life he led, it became increasingly clearer with time that close to nobody was genuinely interested in making a deeper connection. Which was, again, incomprehensible to Ryan, who'd accidentally fallen down that rabbithole.

Although he could usually read people pretty easily, Ryan found it hard to pin down exactly how Brendon felt about him. His true thoughts were that Brendon just felt neutrally towards him - he was easy company, someone who'd be around regardless of what he did, and that was the end of it, probably. Ryan had never considered himself someone really interesting or admirable, after all; his friends didn't tend to express any excitement over any part of his character (but that's just 'cause they were lowkey either way) and he didn't pick up on any extraordinary personal traits himself. So he was, in his eyes, lacking in any department that might impress Brendon. But if he was still getting called up at random like this, where he was clearly delivering something useless to Brendon, occasionally he let himself believe that his perceptions were wrong, that Brendon wasn't 'just this way with everyone' or 'had nothing better to do.' Maybe his kind of plain personality was appealing, sometimes. It was nice to think, and Ryan let himself hang on to the delusion for a while until he was alone with his thoughts again, faced with only his own insecurity.

And it was lame that being liked by Brendon was so important to him. In a way, he was no better than those people who watched from afar, weirdly involved in Brendon's life even if they'd never met him. It shouldn't affect him so much when Brendon did something as basic as addressing him directly and personally - especially not after the amount of time he'd had to get used to it - but it did. You’ll be off-duty when I’m dead, babe. Ryan's always carefully controlled expression flickered briefly, giving way to a weakened, dizzy smile and the upwards curl of his brow for half a second before he gathered himself. "Probably sooner than you think if you keep on using soda to get me here. Maybe start asking for bottled water or, like, spinach." He had to ease the clearly strong effects of him getting too real, too early, but maybe this wasn't the best approach. Whatever. Ryan let his attempts at humor fall flat without any efforts to revive them - he'd likely embarrass himself more, anyway.

So, with that in mind, can I cut your pay? Ryan met his gaze, slightly uneven from the angle where he was slightly leaned away from Brendon and, in counterpoint, Brendon's head was curiously tilted, and knew this was a test on his patience. He smirked, not bothering to roll his eyes since it was probably implied. "Sure - then you can watch me wither away while I barely make rent every month. You live in a ridiculously expensive neighborhood, you know." He did know, of course, but at this point their conversation was about eighty-percent useless banter. You’re my employee, I’m meant to be professional. Believe it or not, this is me trying my fuckin’ hardest. It's not that Brendon sounded upset in any way, but Ryan still felt a little badly for his response; of course he knew what Brendon trying looked like. Seeing Brendon interact casually with others made it clear what his normal conversations went like, how quickly they drifted to inappropriate places whereas he was fine at staying strictly surface-level with Ryan most of the time. Ryan appreciated it, really. "Yes, sir," he mumbled at the sky, playing along with their newly addressed professionalism game.

Ryan barely noticed Brendon's reaction to his words - in fact, he didn't catch on to anything off at all. He hadn't expected anything from just saying the truth, actually, so there was nothing to watch for. He did glanced over when he realized from his periphery that Brendon was taking down a couple more buttons and swallowed thickly, realizing his nerves were rising gradually the more time he spent out here, and now the reason was discernible. He knew Brendon. Mostly, anyway. At least, he knew Brendon enough to guess what was probably going on here... but that was ridiculous. First, the 'plain personality' thing. He wasn't what Brendon went for in the sense of his character traits, nor was he his 'type' in any way except for maybe the fact that he was tall. Ish. He held a scant few centimeters over Brendon, enough to be visible but not enough to compensate for the fact that he was clearly not in the same league. Ryan decided maybe he was jumping to conclusions wanting to leave so quickly - it wasn't fair to Brendon.

Stupidly, with a tiny amount of suspicion left over, Ryan followed him back into the apartment, his arms still tucked at his sides to protect from the cold night/early morning air. The Queen wouldn’t take my shit. Finding it difficult to come up with equivalent responses let alone speak, Ryan just nodded with a steely, forced smile, watching Brendon move around from his station right in the balcony's entrance. So, are you in a rush? Got anyone to get home to? Ryan stared at the can on the table and remembered buying it, throwing a twenty at the cashier 'cause he didn't have any smaller bills. God, he missed the days where he only paid in ones and carefully counted exact change. He briefly contemplated lying, but even if he wanted to, he was rendered immediately unable to by watching Brendon's face change. "No, not really," he said, and thought about how his TV screen was still on, waiting for him. Weird habit to keep when it was pretty much impossible for a breakin to occur. Anyway, it totally counted, so he answered a little more comfortably. "Just Trevor Reznik waiting on me. But he's a creep." Ryan laughed softly even though the joke was more than sort of dumb, looking away abruptly.

Finally he moved a little closer, taking hesitant steps towards Brendon but at the same time in the direction of the door. "Um, but, you know, I should probably go home, right? You should be asleep. I'm supposed to make sure you do healthy stuff like that, aren't I? Go to sleep before the sun comes up, at least." He just needed an excuse other than 'I'm really nervous by the subtext here and gotta go' or whatever the hell was throwing him off. To look a little less like a freak he figured he could approach Brendon like a normal, unaffected person would, but the amount of buttons that were deliberately undone made him so anxious that he expanded his own personal bubble by at least two feet. Which was weird, 'cause he'd seen Brendon in various states of undress just because that was the way Brendon lived, but. This felt like a whole other situation.

Through Brendon didn’t have low standards, per say, the cast of people that drew his attention was varied and numerous- though a general rule of ‘they had to be taller than him’ was almost universal and rarely ignored. Varied taste aside, Ryan was, ironically enough, more or less the ‘type’ he described if he had to limit himself to one; tall (taller than him, at least), with dark, almost curly hair and the most ridiculously gorgeous honey-hued eyes he had seen in his entire life. He also had guitarist’s hands, long-fingered and calloused, and Brendon didn’t even realise he had a thing for that until he met Ryan. But he definitely did. When it came to personality, he was equally as open for difference, though again, Ryan’s relatively quiet, sardonic and often dry personality (interspersed with some level of shyness and rare but astounding smiles) drew him in, so different from Brendon’s obvious, boundless energy and his fiery passion for everything he did. Ryan was more low-key, and somewhere he guessed he kind of needed that- even if he had no intention to date this guy, he had other plans, and Ryan would hopefully stick around for a long time due to his job title. It didn’t cross Brendon’s mind that maybe Ryan had actual morals, unlike him and his countless amount of previous no-strings-attached lovers.

Just like how Ryan couldn’t imagine a life of such extravagance, fame and fortune, dining with stars and partying with A-listers, Brendon could barely stand thinking about living as a regular person- Sure, he’d probably attract the same kind of attention from all the people he met, but a life without vintage wine and Versace and penthouse apartments was no life for him. Brendon was okay with the life that a lot of magazines and media claimed he was ‘trapped in’; though perhaps he was trapped by the responsibility and pressure on his shoulders from his comparatively more succesful and put-together family, he definitely knew he lived a life of privilege and luxury and wasn’t prepared to ever give that up. He’d been in Ryan’s house just once (just out of curiosity), even when professionalism called for him to stay at the door, he had wandered in, and though Ryan was by no means struggling, his apartment was nothing compared to Brendon’s most frequently occupied spacious residence. It was a nice neighbourhood, really, and Brendon had given him salary enough and over to not just survive, thrive in the expensive area. He even gave ridiculous bonuses. But to Brendon, money’s value was detached, and paying people and throwing money at them to gain favour was just as natural to him as breathing. Brendon Blake, famous, rich and handsome, required validation and appreciation, and he seemed to think money was the only way to acquire it.

Brendon had a habit of addressing people with seemingly intimate pet names offhandedly, and though he didn’t intend to make people flustered, he was amused by Ryan’s reaction- that slightly dizzy smile he only just caught provoked him to curl up the corner of his mouth just slightly in a retaliatory smirk. Probably sooner than you think of you keep on using soda to get me here. He frowned instantly, glancing over at his can and then the remaining five in the pack, noting belatedly that he didn’t even really like Dr. Pepper that much. Like he was going to actually admit he just wanted Ryan over- he’d pretend Dr. Pepper was his favourite drink, endorse the fucking company if he had to. Anything to defend his reputation. ”First of all, this is the first and last time I’m calling you at 3am, there are plenty other people who would appreciate the gesture much more,” He retorted, raising his eyebrows, ”And anyway, it’s not that deep- I called you to get soda because I wanted soda.” Maybe start asking for bottled water, or, like, spinach. He considered this for a second. Brendon was both extremely unhealthy and very fitness-focused- he worked out, ate relatively well, but he also dabbled quite comfortably in drugs, cigarettes and alcohol, and indulged in way too much sugar. Maybe Ryan had a point, but he didn’t much care.

”I bought a $60,000 bottle of water, once,” He mentioned casually, glancing down in amusement at his plain can of Dr. Pepper. ”Acqua di Cristallo Tributo a Modigliani. It was, uh, encased in 24k gold and the bottle was, like, a sculpture based on artwork by this Italian artist- Amedeo Clemente Modigliani.” Brendon finished off his can and left in on the balcony ledge before turning more directly towards Ryan. ”Mixed with 5mg of gold dust. Tasted like normal ass spring water. In my defence, I was high as a fucking kite when I bought it.” On that note, an example of his lavish and unhindered spending, he then challenged Ryan’s apparent declaration of friendship by asking whether he could cut his pay in half- and his assistant just smirked, knowing him enough by now to know this was entirely a joke. Sure - then you can watch me wither away while I barely make rent every month. You live in a ridiculously expensive neighborhood, you know. Brendon nodded mournfully, wondering whether that was a geniune complaint, then pushing past it either way.

Yes, sir. Brendon cocked an eyebrow, not used to that formality. What he currently had playing through his mind was by no means professional- and this might’ve been a problem if Brendon a) wasn’t bold as anything, b) has ever faced consequences for stepping out of line. Instead, because he was used to being immediately complied with out of wonder and fascination with the famous and geniune attraction to his rather angelic general presence and appearance, his hands moved and his fingers worked quickly to undo a few more buttons, only half-assing at playing it off as the heat. It was a relatively cool evening. Now slightly chilly, he beckoned Ryan inside with him and wasted no time in completing his mission. Flirting successfully was one of his numerous gifts- almost by birthright of being the offspring of somebody so globally known and internationally respected and feared. No, not really. Thank fuck. Brendon’s mouth noticeably curved into a satisfied smirk.

Just Trevor Reznik waiting on me. But he’s a creep. Brendon laughed more out of politeness, but then his eyes became a little darker again and his voice lowered noticeably. ”Sweet. But, seriously? Nobody expecting you? But you’re so...” He let his eyes travel Ryan up and down fleetingly but obviously and then searched for the right word. He didn’t find it- any word he conjured up wouldn’t fit. Brendon just knew he really wanted him. Absently, he clenched his jaw, then pressed his tongue against his cheek more in passing than suggestively. He wondered whether Ryan had caught on yet- surely he wasn’t that stupid to still think his was normal behaviour for Brendon. Well- this happened pretty frequently, so maybe it was normal. Um, but, you know, I should probably go home, right? You should be asleep. I'm supposed to make sure you do healthy stuff like that, aren't I? Go to sleep before the sun comes up, at least. His nervousness was cute. But he was clearly in panic mode- Brendon quickly racked his brain for ways to calm him down.

”I think you should stay,” He said softly, almost huskily, watching him through his eyelashes, hands moving back to his shirt to finish unbuttoning it. He then shrugged it slowly off his shoulders and held onto his left forearm with his right hand, smoothing it up and down over the ink on his upper arm. Evidently fearless, he took a few steps closer, tilting his head back to properly meet his eyes. Brendon’s stance was relaxed, his expression expectant, poised and inviting. He wondered how much more subtext Ryan required, and flicked his eyes over him again.

Personally Ryan wasn't even sure who he became attracted to, or if he even had a type at all. He'd not dated very much in the past, much less had one night stands. And if he did date, his streak tended generally towards women. Which was kind of misleading these days considering he couldn't imagine himself holding anything longterm in that sense. But still - the longest relationship he had had was with a girl who really only cared that he was pretty and acted just as pretty as he looked (supposedly, anyway; Ryan himself didn't really get it to this day). Little over two years wasted 'cause he appreciated the attention, really, and Ryan was fairly sure he hadn't changed much. He wouldn't recognize depth if it stared him in the face. Needless to say, any sort of positive glance in his direction was about enough, and he was endlessly easy when it came to being charmed. At least he was no longer in a place where he needed to be literally taken care of by whoever he was dating because he was so irresponsible. In fact, his job was dependent on him not being that way anymore, fortunately.

Even so, it was becoming clearer to him recently that his type was very much every attribute Brendon possessed... unless he really had to stop and be honest with himself about it. Like, on one hand, Brendon's genuine grin even when a joke wasn't even that funny, the way his eyes lit up and curled with it, the way he talked and moved and acted like a prince with childish tendencies all the same; all of it and more was so appealing to him that he couldn't imagine Brendon having any faults. On the other hand, Brendon constantly made it obvious that he was indeed a flawed person just 'cause that was human nature. For instance, he totally had no self-awareness (because he'd never needed it in the past, presumably). It was a rare occasion when he took other people into consideration if he didn't know them personally (and even then that wasn't guaranteed), and he didn't give a flying fuck about his health unless it had an effect on his physical appearance. So Brendon was perfect, but not really, and if he didn't embody whatever was meant to be Ryan's 'type,' then he was redefining the image altogether.

Ryan watched Brendon's face shift as soon as he made his little joke and sort of wondered if he was just easier to set off at night. It wasn't usually this common that Ryan got on his nerves, but apparently he had a knack for it now - then again, he usually didn't feel so vulnerable and anxious himself, and he definitely hadn't been this completely informal ever before. So maybe that made the difference. First of all, this is the first and last time I’m calling you at 3am, there are plenty other people who would appreciate the gesture much more. This was their dynamic, Ryan reminded himself. They made dumb jabs at one another and didn't really bother being careful about it. Except he still felt his face fall slightly, fully believing in the moment that Brendon really didn't care whether it was him or some total stranger that walked in. He bit his lip and turned his head just a bit away, in case he was tempted to do something stupid like speak or whatever.

And anyway, it’s not that deep- I called you to get soda because I wanted soda. Ryan made a little 'hm' sound to pass as a response, but it wasn't all that convincing, so he added an equally gentle laugh as if he found it funny. Not really. Ryan just focused on getting back to standing straight and neutral-faced because he'd since started to look all slouchy and depressed, ridiculously affected by a few joking words. Probably joking - hopefully. I bought a $60,000 bottle of water, once. Ryan was thankful for the distraction, even if it was a kind of bizarre anecdote. He looked at Brendon curiously, still working the hurt from his face. Acqua di Cristallo Tributo a Modigliani. It was, uh, encased in 24k gold and the bottle was, like, a sculpture based on artwork by this Italian artist- Amedeo Clemente Modigliani. "You remember the brand and the artist, despite the language barrier," he observed, sounding impressed, quietly enough not to interrupt. He figured it'd probably sound patronizing if he questioned Brendon further than that, though, and let him continue.

Mixed with 5mg of gold dust. Tasted like normal ass spring water. In my defence, I was high as a fucking kite when I bought it. Maybe it was stupid to be so worried over little things, but first the sugar doses and this 'high as a fucking kite' thing - Ryan always felt at least vaguely concerned for Brendon's health. Probably hypocritical. After all, he'd just accepted a cigarette from him, which left a scent that still lingered on his person stubbornly and remained ashed on his fingertips. Other times he'd indulge Brendon in drinking with him, or he'd share whatever junk food he could, or he'd smoke weed 'til he was practically unable to walk home. So he wasn't much better, and yet he still felt the need to make sure Brendon was at least in fair health despite all the shit he did to or put into his body. He argued with himself that it was part of his job, not just him harboring a dumb, tiny crush that maybe wasn't so tiny but he was definitely going to get fucking rid of it ASAP. Probably. Hopefully. "Right, well, tap water works, too, in case you weren't aware. It's 2018, you've got filters. No need for some Louvre water or whatever, rich boy." Ryan grinned, glad he could at least force something more than dry, quick sentences as he was wont to do when he felt out of his element.

He knew firsthand the shift in Brendon's features that came later but wasn't quite sure what to do with it. Ryan figured he'd just follow whatever lead would inevitably come from Brendon. Sweet. But, seriously? Nobody expecting you? But you’re so... Ryan accidentally let a hopeful look through the metaphorical protective wall again, watching him and needing the validation. It was bullshit, probably. Brendon was the master at lying to get what he wanted, genius when it came to schmoozing, and here was a prime example... Unless he meant it and there was genuinely a compliment on the tip of his tongue. Ryan felt suddenly self-conscious when his eyes roamed but didn't change his stance, just gazing longingly right back for a moment, wondering what exactly he was thinking, what 'so' lead into. Unfortunately, Brendon seemed to abandon the thought and Ryan pursed his lips, hardening his expression again as much as he could- not very much, as it turned out. "Yeah. No one." His voice was gentle, not bitter as his words may suggest but more matter-of-fact.

I think you should stay. Brendon's tone alone was calming but there was an edge Ryan couldn't put his finger on. His intuition, though, told him to get the hell out of there. Fuck his intuition when the 'tiny crush' in his head was screaming at the opportunity to stay over, get more time with Brendon than ever before. He wanted to know him, truly qualify as a best friend, and during the days he got to spend with Brendon there never seemed to be time to do that. Here, however, it felt slower, more surreal ever since they reentered the apartment. Slow and surreal, sure, but Ryan couldn't come close to adding 'serene' onto that list once he saw Brendon's shirt slip off, instead swallowing hard and trying desperately to stand his ground rather than instinctively back away. His gaze travelled over the ink painting his skin, newly interested in what they could mean and what story they might tell more than he was drawn by Brendon's general perfection otherwise.

Then, quicker than Ryan expected, he was close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him, and Ryan's gaze rose to meet his. Every impulse was something like 'kiss him' or 'touch him' or 'hold him,' but Ryan knew deep down that that could have no good results given the nature of their relationship, no matter how much he liked Brendon. So he placed a careful hand on Brendon's shoulder, less lovingly and more like he was keeping him from moving even nearer. "Please don't be messing with me," he murmured, knowing he must look far less blank than he wanted to. Ryan was no good at vulnerability and now it was so, so hard to avoid. "Listen- I don't know if, if you know what you're doing. I don't even really know." He definitely did, actually. They weren't on the same page and probably never would be. It was killing him - but part of him really didn't mind and would rather take the leap on the off chance Brendon would change his mind. "I'm not that kind of guy, Brendon." It was a weird way of saying 'I'm not cheap,' and he definitely didn't like the faint amount of hurt in his voice, but there was no going back now. Maybe he'd misread altogether and was making unfair accusations, even. At this point Ryan was sort of keeping the balcony in his mind as a gruesome backup escape plan.

Brendon, in contrast, was no stranger to ‘one night stands’. There were rarely nights when he went to bed alone, because in honesty, he detested the silence and emptiness of a huge apartment to himself; though he could find lots of ways to entertain himself on his own, he was a social creature, and preferred human company to his own thoughts in a lavish but lonely penthouse. He wasn’t particularly picky, but then he was spoilt for choice every night, and his phone was full of unsaved numbers and an average of five ignored texts from each. He preferred not to fall on the same person twice, out of some misplaced fear of somebody actually getting to know him and advance from surface-level, usually meaningless physical intimacy to some kind of emotional connection, one he simultaneously had craved all his life and avoided whenever it became even the most minuscule of possibilities. This vulnerability was closely guarded by defensiveness, almost a shell of self-preservation, in that he avoided growing close to people simply because he was convinced that nobody would even want him beyond physically, beyond materialistically, beyond for his wealth and status. Years of his father telling him they only want you because you’re famous and you’ll never find real love if you live your life a thousand times (rich, coming from a married man- but then his father hadn’t started off as he did, and was one of the lucky ones who ascended so far from nothing) had rendered him almost afraid of people showing apparent affection beyond the two-dimensional. He saw lovers in the street and he was both stupefied and angered by their stupid comfortability.

It wasn’t all bad, though. Again, he very much enjoyed the endless affection that practical strangers showered him with, and sometimes when he saw couples he just wanted to ask them how they weren’t bored of sticking with one person for so long. He could barely make a relationship last five days, let alone five years. Brendon knew that his attention was easily lost- if somebody didn’t command it completely, if only briefly, he wouldn’t even bother continuing a conversation. He tended to cut people off mid-conversation or just walk away while they were talking, and he was rich and famous enough for people to just nod and shrug, as if to say that makes sense, everybody says he’s an asshole. As much as he hated to admit it, the endless amounts of headlines trashing his name had almost lead him to just believe it, and if not, he’d play along- if you can’t beat them, become what they say you are. Ironically, it didn’t take much for Brendon to do so.

Though he often wasn’t serious, sometimes his offhandedness lead people to think his comments were geniune; for example, now, when he mentioned that he had a thousand other people willing to call aside from Ryan, and if he left he could be replaced in an instant- this was a lie. Ryan was high on his list of favourite people already, and brendon could count the people who actually, geniunely cared about him as a person and not as the heir to a huge inheritance on one hand. He didn’t like to complain, save denounce every other ridiculous privilege he had in life, but it really was lonely at the top. Overindulgence was the only thing that kept him vaguely fulfilled, but there was an always an emptiness that any manner of luxuries couldn’t fill. Once he realised Ryan was pretending not to care, he looked over in slight concern, wondering whether it was appropriate to say something- but he decided instead to move on, and his assistant seemed to appreciate the distraction.

You remember the brand and the artist, despite the language barrier. Brendon laughed incredulously, eyes flicking quickly down to Ryan’s mouth for a split second then back to his eyes. ”That’s what you’re fucking surprised about? Not the fact I spent $60,000 on a bottle of water?” He grinned, relaxing again despite the odd sort of tension in the air, and reminisced on the evening he bought that. In a small triumph, he had succeeded in getting his uptight older brother (Mason) pissed out of his mind, but then said brother had convinced a similarly wasted Brendon into splashing on a very luxurious bottle of water. As it stood, intoxicated Brendon was easy to persuade. Right, well, tap water works, too, in case you weren't aware. It's 2018, you've got filters. In the manner of a true pompous ass, he wrinkled his nose in disgust. ”Ew, what am I, poor?” No need for some Louvre water or whatever, rich boy. Rich Boy. Brendon smiled faintly. Was Ryan flirting with him?

There was only so far a conversation about a water bottle could go, even if said water bottle was based on the works of a late Italian sculptor and cost an exuberant amount of money. So Brendon effortlessly started to execute one of his most practiced habits- flirting like Ryan was the first and most attractive man he’d ever seen. Which, honestly, wasn’t too far from the truth, from Brendon’s point of view. Those eyes. His hands. Brendon really couldn’t believe that Ryan had nobody of romantic interest in his life- he wondered whether this was voluntary or not, and also wondered why he’d never asked before. Yeah. No one. ”You say that like it should be obvious. You’re gorgeous,” Came his soft, easy response, his voice taking on a sensual lilt as he shifted his weight from one foot to another. ”Really fucking... God.” Quite obviously his poor assistant was taken off guard. Brendon liked it. He liked sweeping people off their feet.

To his amusement, he swore he could almost hear Ryan’s erratic, quickening heartbeat as he let his shirt fall back off his shoulders and then he rolled them forward to loosen the knots. All of this felt like a replay of a broken record in Brendon’s mind, he’d done this countless times, and honestly he wasn’t sure what was motivating him this time apart from very intense attraction. This was his friend, one of his only geniune friends- what the hell was he doing? Ryan seemed to be one the same wavelength and stopped him with a hand on his shoulder before he got too close. Please don’t he messing with me. Messing with him? Was Ryan blind? He just stared up at him, eyelashes still lowered. Listen- I don't know if, if you know what you're doing. I don't even really know. ”I know exactly what I’m doing, and so do you,” He said in a low voice, persisting and moving closer against his hand, reaching out himself and moving his hand down to hook his fingers in the belt loops of his jeans and tugging almost playfully. I’m not that kind of guy, Brendon.

That was a line he’d heard before. ”What kind of guy, Ryan?” He asked, liking the way his name felt and sounded on his tongue. ”I’ll make you that kind of guy.” There was a promise in his words of things he didn’t care say aloud. Ryan wasn’t stupid- nor did he have much of a willpower. A man who was both so, so easy and painfully pretty- Brendon felt a prickle of anticipation, could see Ryan’s chest rise and fall, and his breath catch in his throat- and he let his lips part again. ”C’mon.”

Ryan understood aloofness, he'd experienced it firsthand and was desperate to maintain it no matter what. However, the more he came to understand Brendon's dedication to remaining invulnerable and untouchable, the more he realized that they had very different boundaries. Anyone Ryan knew well would tell him he had the worst case of a raised guard, but at this point he could introduce them to Brendon and Brendon would quickly take the trophy from his hands. Ryan was the type to hide his emotions because he thought that might make him easy to read and control or otherwise take advantage of - plus, he'd just grown accustomed to people not really catering to his feelings, as he preferred it that way. Brendon's rationale (or what Ryan assumed it was) was far more complicated, something Ryan couldn't imagine sticking to. Why not want to build a connection beyond sexual? Why was he so opposed to having someone to bond with?

After all, it'd be easy for Brendon. No one had ever outright disliked Brendon for who he was, they just tended to be prejudiced towards his background or his family or his lifestyle. Anyway, that was how Ryan saw things. On the other hand, Ryan couldn't build a permanent connection because he just didn't possess that type of charm. It was fine with him, nothing upsetting at this point; not like he was the type to worry about being single when there was plenty else to think of. In fact his concerns only started around the time he began to realize he may feel something for Brendon that wasn't very appropriate for their professional relationship. If he liked him that much and wasn't in a relationship, then he was in a pretty dangerous position; the only barrier would be the risk of losing his job. Ryan wasn't too ambitious. That wasn't much of a setback, or it wouldn't be if Brendon just continued giving him reasons to like him.

He stood by the belief that maybe this was just a tiny thing that he was blowing out of proportion, though. After all, he did that with a lot of things, including Brendon's mention of the (probable) fact that he had plenty of backup/replacements for Ryan... and just when he was starting to think maybe he held a more unique role in Brendon's life. Whatever - Brendon cleared the air quickly, not mentioning it but socially apt enough to move on in a timely, considerate matter. That’s what you’re fucking surprised about? Not the fact I spent $60,000 on a bottle of water? Ryan shrugged, not even having thought twice about that part. And maybe he cared more about Brendon's limitless talents than he did about his dumb - but sustainable, of course - spending habits. "Well, I've seen you pay more for a bottle of rose water, which I stand by saying is not an actual skin care product. You really can't shock me anymore with your use of money." Although sometimes it was indeed painful to catch him dropping more than, like, $20 on a sandwich. Ryan would inevitably have to come up after him and mumble 'just a small water, thanks,' and that was still $4 at the least. He'd never get used to a well-off life.

Ryan ignored his callous 'poor' jokes (though he did entertain a brief play-by-play in his head of what it might be like for them to trade lives for a day) but quickly wished he'd somehow extended the conversation just by building off of that. Anything would be better than having to pretend he didn't desperately want to... flirt? right back at Brendon. He wasn't sure what it was. He trusted Brendon, knew he had a heart really and wouldn't intentionlly hurt him, but Brendon was still unpredictable and fiery. He could easily be waiting to see Ryan make the first move then laugh at his gullibility. Honestly, they had become close to the point where that could easily be some normal playful behavior between them. As far as this situation went, though, Brendon was full seduction, his gaze roaming over Ryan so obviously that Ryan felt handsome for once, wanted. He felt his features go slack, thinking all about how he might best approach just kissing him carelessly - and also how that was a terrible goddamn idea.

You say that like it should be obvious. It kinda was, to him. You’re gorgeous. That was the first time anyone had used that exact word for Ryan. Not that he had never gotten a compliment before, but they were few and far between, and his reaction was slightly different given the source. He sort of paused, watching Brendon hopefully as he shifted, and slightly dropped his chin, so close to just leaning in. Really fucking... God. Brendon looked frighteningly confident, so much so that Ryan was on edge again, but he forgot to be careful by how much he'd been thrown off guard. "No one's said that to me before," he replied in a small voice, vulnerable to the core for once. He wanted so terribly just to tell Brendon he thought he was the most beautiful person he'd ever seen - but, for one, Brendon didn't need to be told that, and for another, Ryan was still very much at risk of fucking up his entire life. He sort of communicated it by the way he looked at Brendon amorously anyway.

Brendon barely seemed deterred by his efforts to bring a reality check to mind. I know exactly what I’m doing, and so do you. Alright, yeah. Ryan's hand that'd previously been trying to keep him back instead moved to curl around his shoulder, gently holding him closer just as he began resisting the push away. The other mirrored the way Brendon hung on to his belt loops, landing just above his hip and squeezing lightly, affectionately. What kind of guy, Ryan? He resisted the urge to explain at length that he was ridiculously romantic and he had a fucking English degree so nothing was ever simple. But. I’ll make you that kind of guy. "Jesus." Ryan exhaled, shaking his head less in defiance and more in defeat, deeming that final line just about enough to push him. He leaned in to kiss him as long as he could before thinking better of it and ignoring his lips altogether, hearing Brendon's encouragement in the back of his mind while he eventually led both of them back to his sheets by pressing their bodies closer insistently.

Hours later he woke up with his face pressed into unfamiliar, too-expensive fabric, smelling vaguely like something he might know. Ryan took a few moments to orient himself then gradually shifted until he could see the room through his hair, watching Brendon pull a clean shirt over his head, his hair popping up from the static for half a second. He smiled fondly at the sight, then felt this heavy sense of dread, going noticeably cold. Yeah - he definitely wasn't going to be welcome here for long if he knew Brendon's streak well. Part of him argued he could easily be an exception... but most likely not. Ryan finally sat up, the comforter falling off his bare chest as he went, and he blinked in the direct light coming through the windows. Instead of addressing the elephant in the room - the fact that he was overstaying his welcome - Ryan opted to sort of joke it off. "Never thought I'd see you awake before me," he said with faux impression, avoiding looking right at Brendon.

Brendon wasn’t naive. He could be described as sheltered from the hardships of the real world and detached from the struggles of ordinary people, and therefore something of an alien amongst others that didn’t share his privileged life and upbringing, but he wasn’t naive. He knew people- he could read them pretty well, and through a combination of the power and influence he had through his surname alone (the one thing he could honestly thank his father for) and his effortless charm, he always tended to get what he wanted, when he wanted, how he wanted. And he got bored quickly. Quickly enough that he broke some hearts, unintentionally but unsympathetically, in mere moments, and through the hurt he’d caused people in his younger years, he tended to be even less prone to making attachments than he had in the past; partly because he was scared of hurting other people and didn’t want that on his conscience, mostly because he was scared of making himself vulnerable. Brendon thrives on power- be it real, or fabricated, money and authority (despite next to no work) kept him stable, a few steps back from falling over the edge of the cliff.

So, he knew people. He knew how to get to people. When it came to Ryan, it was easy in a tactical sense, but incredibly difficult in a moral sense; Ryan was a friend, a close friend, and had worked his way slowly into his life and established his importance and impact in a way that shocked him. Brendon found himself asking Ryan hesitantly to text him when he got home when he walked back late, telling him things about his family he wouldn’t disclose with more casual relationships and friends, growing to appreciate his presence so much that he thought of stupid, transparent excuses just to get Ryan to his apartment without seeming too desperate at 3am. And that’s just what he had done last night- convinced Ryan round to his penthouse under the guise that he just had a strong craving for Dr. Pepper, then was overcome with intense attraction like an adolescent, and quite easily seduced him- and that lead them to the morning, late morning, with the sun streaming in and painting everything a pale golden hue. The first thing he registered was that he didn’t go to sleep alone and he didn’t wake up alone, either.

Brendon was curled next to Ryan, his head on his chest, and for a moment he just listened to the steady rise and fall of his breathing, and pondered for a moment what would happen if he stayed there like couples did, fell back to sleep and pretended he hadn’t fucked up their working relationship. But this was Brendon, and this almost domestic intimacy scared him, so he peeled himself away, sitting up and letting the sheets fall down off his bare chest. He glanced back at Ryan, sleeping, still gorgeous- fuck. Brendon scowled at himself then rose, wanting to get dressed as quickly as possible and then wake up Ryan and tell him to leave. For the sake of speed, he skipped a morning shower and just pulled on fresh clothes and underwear, pulling a t-shirt over his head and looking quite ordinary for a multi-millionaire. A million things were running through his mind- when all he could see was the newly harsh glare of the sun, it was this sucks, Brendon why can’t you keep it in your pants, and when he blinked, behind his eyes were images from the previous evening on repeat, vivid and heated and making him sweat. This didn’t happen every time. It freaked him out. He wanted Ryan gone.

Never thought I’d say you awake before me. Brendon had just pulled on his shirt when these words sounded behind him. He didn’t turn around, just noted how Ryan’s voice sounded gravelly with sleep and Brendon wanted to do all in his power to wake him up. He suppressed the thought, rolling his eyes mentally, and finally turned around, putting on a casual act quite easily. ”Well, there’s a first time for everything, right?” Brendon offered, raising both his eyebrows suggestively and curving the corner of his mouth into a smile even though it was shaky, and fake, and why was Ryan still here? He stood there for a second, arms loosely folded, eyes lingering on Ryan for as long as he could before it became inappropriate, which was a strange attitude to have, considering what had happened last night. Brendon was burning up. Ryan was similarly unclothed and his hair was messy and tousled. He wondered if he looked the same, if Ryan’s fingers had twisted his hair into curls, if the friction of the sheets had caused it to spring up. Finding satisfaction in worrying about something other than personal connections, he reached up and touched his hair, brushing it back to at least look a little more put together.

”Anyway, morning. You slept late,” He said suddenly, offhandedly, bending down to find Ryan’s clothes on the floor and tossing them in his assistant’s general direction without looking him in the eye. Brendon was barely awake- the urge to just get back into bed and let himself be shown geniune, chaste affection he was sure Ryan would offer him- but there was always the risk that he wouldn’t and all Brendon could think about was how what a vulnerable position he would be putting himself in. Frequently seen in suits, he wore expensive two and three-pieces as a kind of armour. Though he had no problem taking his clothes off in most contexts, succumbing to the repressed desire to wrap his arms around him and just lie there would be a step over his own line, his own self-preserving boundaries. It could be argued that Brendon had nothing, technically, to fear, and it was Ryan putting his career on the line- and if Brendon wasn’t Brendon, he’d be fired immediately. Luckily, he was Brendon, and casual sex was not really a big deal for him. But he figured Ryan would need reassuring.

”Don’t worry, you’re not fired,” He murmured, finally looking his assistant in the eye. ”Though I appreciate this was all a very thrilling risk for you. Worth it, though, right?” Brendon prompted, walking over to the edge of his bed and tracing a finger absently across the silk, closing his eyes briefly until he was getting replays again. He wanted to ask whether Ryan was experiencing the same thing, whether he still felt electrified, like all of his nerves were standing on end. What the hell, he thought- it had been too good to not do again. Brendon let himself smile, but was shifting impatiently when Ryan still didn’t move. ”Let’s do it again some time.”

It was different trying to act normal as ever when Brendon was looking right at him, so when he turned, Ryan lost his confidence, shrinking a little against the pillow scrunched behind him. Well, there’s a first time for everything, right? Ryan's face remained the same but he could tell Brendon's smile wasn't anything close to genuine, all the self-assuredness in his features unreal. The longer Brendon looked the less welcome he felt - weird to think, because last night it was like all Brendon wanted was for him to stay around, and Ryan had been the one who wanted desperately to go. Not that he particularly wanted to be here now, although maybe if the circumstances were different and he'd woken up to kisses or any affection... it was a little dumb, but he'd just been thrown for a loop waking up to cold air and a sense of having done something very wrong.

It wasn't just the fact that he worked for Brendon, but even if they had no such reservations between each other he knew he still would've felt a little like the world was ending. Bizarrely, it was in this situation, where his feelings should probably have been dwindling, that he was only just coming to realize exactly how strong he felt about Brendon. It was unreasonable, really, because Brendon never actively gave him a reason to be this involved, and he even discouraged closeness beyond a point. Ryan wasn't usually so... susceptible. To avoid showing it out he just nodded absently at Brendon's words, knowing he should probably get moving but still not wanting to go. Ideally he'd be allowed to spend just a little time with him, coax everything back to normalcy after a very spontaneous night - if it was as spontaneous as it seemed, anyway - and maybe establish what exactly Brendon thought of everything. Was he going to be sick of Ryan after this, or neutral, or grow to like him in the same way...? Ryan wished for the latter, but Brendon kind of tossing him aside sounded more likely, just based on what he'd seen from him in the past.

He was twirling the sheets between his fingers uncertainly when Brendon spoke again, breaking the silence that ensued while he considered Ryan. Maybe that'd been his cue to go and he just missed it. Whatever - Ryan resolved to stretch this out as long as he could. Anyway, morning. You slept late. Ryan's lips parted, hesitant, and then his clothes landed strewn out beside him. He felt pretty cheap, initial sense of unwelcomeness completely renewed. "Morning," he responded in a voice quieter than he'd used before, eyes stuck to the sheets he still had curled in his hands. He raised his head again, leaning back against the headboard to level his gaze with Brendon's. "You could've, too. Come back, it's not like you have anything to do." He grinned with not a lot of confidence, a hand held out to present the empty space beside him. It wasn't that likely he'd take up the offer, or if he did oblige it'd be for a second at most, but. Ryan may as well just confirm what exactly the nature of their relationship was now.

Brendon met his eyes for once and Ryan did his best to hold it, sort of a deer caught in headlights more than anything else. Don’t worry, you’re not fired. Off-guard, Ryan just squinted at him, brow furrowed. Sounded like Brendon seemed to think he wasn't at fault here despite being the one to initiate things, then. At a thought like that Ryan knew he was way too unreasonably aggressive, so he bit his tongue, staring on more comfortably since he had a fair amount of bitterness on his side. Though I appreciate this was all a very thrilling risk for you. Worth it, though, right? Ryan laughed quietly, shaking his head a bit in disbelief at Brendon's angle here. Worth what? Thinking about what more they could have, even more often than he already did? Last night just seemed to fuel his own dumb fantasies, how much he already entertained the possibility of them being together. He knew what Brendon meant, though, how he probably just cared about the fact that he'd successfully fulfilled an impulse. Or, anyway, that's what Ryan figured at the moment, when he was still mulling over how much it all meant to him and how Brendon was likely the opposite.

"Yeah," he answered softly, sounding a little sick. "Thrilling." His attention dropped to his hands again, trying to ignore Brendon moving even minutely closer to him. Let's do it again some time. Ryan's natural thought was 'why not just be exclusive so you don't have to call me up in some secret language,' but somehow he figured that wouldn't come off as very clear. Plus, any proposition like that, he knew, would just scare Brendon off. And... in all fairness, he was willing to continue whatever this was if it meant he wouldn't just be forgotten about. That wasn't really who Brendon was, to cut people off heartlessly, but Ryan was assuming the worst nonetheless so that whatever happened, he was ready for. It dawned on him that it didn't really make sense for him to be mad at something that Brendon couldn't control - after all Brendon couldn't just tell himself to let people in and explore relationships beyond the physical and superficial - so he forgot everything angry hanging on his lips, suspended every red emotion that he felt on reflex for now.

"Some time," he confirmed absently, leaning forward again and turning his clothes right side out, arranging them before him on the sheets. He skewed his face a little, looking uncertain. "Just, um, if you ever want, like... more, that's. I'm open to whatever." He shrugged to punctuate all of his half-coherency, tiredly grabbing his shirt and pulling it over his arms. He realized belatedly how open-ended all of that sounded, and Brendon could easily just answer it however he wanted to avoid the concept of exclusivity. He could either clarify and corner him or specify and let him off the hook, and... the latter sounded more fair to him. He felt pretty shitty for even bringing it up, actually. "Sorry, I don't know how this is- supposed to go. I'll just..." Leave, he guessed, so he edged to the side of the bed and pulled on his jeans, standing to button them. He left his shirt hanging open for the time being when he turned to face a wall mirror, trying unsuccessfully to sort his hair out. "Call me if you need me, right?" Mostly he was still not that convinced Brendon would even want to talk to him again - even for work related matters.

It was true, last night for Brendon it had been as if the one thing he wanted more anything was Ryan, and even the temporary truth in that situation has frightened him. Sure, he felt attraction to people all the time enough to be infamously known for an endless string of quote-unquote ‘lovers’, but that has been different. Usually the attraction and the want was only surface level- when he delved a little deeper within himself he could find nothing akin to affection or geniune care for the people he had intimate encounters with- but for Ryan he could feel his heart speed up even in instances where he wasn’t usually fazed, he felt geniune guilt buried under his offhand exterior when he realised that he had hurt Ryan, mislead him even, intentionally or not. And it had been intentional- though Brendon wasn’t naive, he had a habit of forgetting he was playing with actual people, not chess pieces. He had been raised told he was better than others; though he by no means believed that, some remained of what his father had told him, a sense of authority and control.

Brendon didn’t want to turn out like his father, but since he was born and raised rich, he didn’t even know what it was like to struggle, or face consequences for his own carelessness- but here he was, standing and smelling of roses in fresh clothes, swanning about his bedroom as Ryan awoke and orientated himself and looked as if his whole world had come crashing down. He didn’t like feeling guilty- he didn’t like feeling as if he owed Ryan something, some sort of apology. So he froze when Ryan spoke, before biting his lip hard and turning around, putting on an artificial smile so to not seem too unwelcoming. Just looking at him, sitting there in his bed, shirtless, hair tousled and beautiful fucking eyes avoiding his gaze- Brendon had distant thoughts of shit, I’m screwed followed by no, I’m not. It was just because Ryan was his friend before his lover. That, surprisingly, hadn’t happened before, because he didn’t have many real friends. That even marginally closer connection had fucked up his emotions. Brendon reminded himself firmly that last night had been about nothing but impulse and attraction and touch and heat, overindulgences he thrived on. Nothing more. ”Hey, emperor- love the outfit,” He flirted, eyeing Ryan’s chest shamelessly but then blinking and looking away, knowing this was the last thing he needed.

He wanted Ryan to leave so he wouldn’t have to think about him anymore. Morning. Brendon raised his eyebrows minutely and watched Ryan rest against the headboard, biting the inside of his cheek when his assistant gestured for him to fill the empty space beside him. You could’ve, too. Come back, it’s not like you have anything to do. Grinning, he shrugged a shoulder back, ignoring the faint temptation to take up his offer and just curl up and rest his head on his chest and go back to sleep. ”You up for round two?” He joked, turning back to the mirror to try and tame his disobedient, unruly hair. ”Anyway, I actually do have things to do. Lunch with someone at... 2? Then a, uh date.” He said it before thinking about it but forced himself not to stop and correct himself out of the hope that Ryan wasn’t actually listening. He laughed almost forcefully. ”You should know that, being practically in charge of running my life and all that shit.” If Ryan wasn’t working for him and wasn’t his friend, Brendon was 100% positive he would have firmly insisted that he be out of the house an hour and a half ago, and he’d never see or talk to him ever again. He was glad their relationship was different and he had an excuse not to cut him from his life immediately.

Ryan was right, he didn’t feel like he was at fault- the guilt was involuntary and he rolled his eyes at himself for experiencing it; Ryan knew him, Ryan knew the risk he was taking, Ryan knew he could lose his job and ruin their relationship. What did Brendon have to risk? The service of an assistant in a world full of thousands of potential applicants? This ignorance about Ryan’s dwindling dignity made itself prevalent when he tried to insure that he wouldn’t be fired, or get a paycut or whatever- he made it seem like he was being generous, letting Ryan off easy for something unprofessional and morally ambiguous. Along with that came a healthy dose of vanity, or perhaps just overwhelming self-confidence- asking Ryan casually if it had been worth the risk, even though he was positive himself that everyone would say yes and nobody would ever perhaps value their financial stability over a night with a multi-millionaire who made his lovers feel like dirt the following mornings.

Yeah, thrilling. Brendon nodded once, finally letting his hands drop to his sides after he threw Ryan’s clothes onto the bed, and wondering whether doing this again would break his rule of only seeing someone once. Technically, yes- but this was his employee. He was a Virgo, he was good at multitasking. Deciding it was fine and bending his own rules because he thought Ryan was pretty as fuck, he suggested they do it again casually enough so he could play it down as a joke in the off chance his offer was refused. Some time. Tomorrow, Brendon wanted to suggest, but he just watched quietly as Ryan arranged his clothes out before him. Just, um, if you ever want, like... more, that’s. I’m open to whatever. Open to whatever? Brendon dismissed most of that as tired incoherency, but caught the last little sentence and all but lit up. ”What, like handcuffs?” He mused, wringing his wrists and then silently mourning when Ryan pulled his shirt back on. ”Sure, darling, just let me know what you’re into.”

Sorry, I don’t know how this is- supposed to go. I’ll just... Brendon grinned, fully amused, and watched as Ryan shifted to the edge of the bed and pulled on his jeans. He didn’t know the brand. Something cheap, probably; he knew that though Ryan could now afford high-end, he always felt more comfortable in the cheapest stuff he could possibly find. Brendon didn’t understand that and made a mental note to take him shopping to buy him some new jeans, unwillingly or not. Speaking of which... ”Oh, fuck, almost forgot. New suit, wearing it on this uh, date- got it tailored, sent it to be finished- will you pick it up for me later? Thanks.” Back to business. If Brendon was good at anything, it was having a clean cut between professional and personal. Unfortunately, the lines had blurred here- even for just a second. Call me if you need me, right?” Ryan was stood, now, shirt still open at the front. ”Uh-huh.”

Ryan felt pretty stupid for joining the probably already existing, expansive group of people who fell for Brendon like this, and all of whom may have known full well that Brendon would never return their affections. Ryan certainly knew and that just made matters worse. Usually he was so good at keeping his emotions in check; he never snapped at people or showed signs of being annoyed if he was really trying not to. If he was happy about something he generally had to consciously show it, even. Somehow, Brendon managed to bring out everything, not just his fancy. Apart from making Ryan like him to such an extent, Brendon irritated him more than anyone else sometimes, made him sadder than anything through all the (few and far-between) stories about his life, occupied his thoughts, both waking and not, more than anything else. And it wouldn't bother him so much if this was something that didn't happen all the time, but Ryan suspected there were plenty of people trying to get over Brendon, even if they didn't feel what Ryan felt to quite the same depth.

He did know for sure, however, that no one had experienced the same thing, especially because the last assistant was Brendon's first assistant and Ryan already knew that they were barely even friendly with one another half the time. Plus, their situation was... unique. Ryan remembered last night just narrowly avoiding the impulse to kiss Brendon a number of different times, or trying not to look directly at him because it'd just make him want to more, and biting skin to keep from saying anything idiotic. If only part of the interview had been, like, 'will you or will you not fall in love with your employer,' or something, and then Ryan would take a moment to really examine whether he thought Brendon was that attractive beyond physically. Maybe he could've avoided all of this altogether. He wasn't exactly greedy or hedonistic, so he preferred mental security over the financial security. At the moment Ryan was swimming in money he'd never even seen such a large amount of before, but he was missing sleep for reasons other than late-night missions to 7/11.

Which, by the way, he didn't really mind. He figured he'd probably do whatever for Brendon even if it wasn't his job. Hey, emperor- love the outfit. Ryan didn't get it or appreciate it so he didn't honor the flirting with a response - or what he presumed was flirting, anyway - just looked off, mildly out of place. Brendon didn't seem very proud of himself either, though, so maybe he wasn't too unfounded in not feeling particularly flattered (although he of course still felt vaguely exhilerated any time Brendon looked at him, especially like that, and the quickened rise and fall of his chest was kind of a giveaway). Despite all his ambivalence he tried to invite Brendon back to his side, restore whatever could have been, and Brendon seemed unmoved by the welcoming. Which was, admittedly, not shocking. But Ryan had a tendency to get his hopes up for Brendon specifically and was only ever let down so hard by him.

You up for round two? Ryan still looked - and felt - sort of sick, and it was hard to pretend otherwise, so he smiled uncomfortably, watching Brendon turn away to groom himself. Funny thing is, he knew he'd accept if it meant he could stay, and it didn't even feel that heartwrenching whenever he could at least be physically close to Brendon, so. "Anytime," he said as boldly as he could, trying to match Brendon's energy. Anyway, I actually do have things to do. Lunch with someone at... 2? Then a, uh date. Ryan stared, lips slightly parted in something like shock, and he would never have guessed the word 'date' alone could hurt that bad. It made no sense, he wasn't entitled to anything from Brendon and they'd never guaranteed anything to one another, but he still somehow felt betrayed. It was at least comforting to think that Brendon wouldn't be on what normal people consider a date, with romance and dessert and laughing over drinks, but probably doing the exact same thing they'd done last night with a stranger. So. Bad, but not as bad as it could be.

While Brendon laughed it off, Ryan tried to play along, smiling timidly and ignoring the impulse to just bang his head against the wall behind him. You should know that, being practically in charge of running my life and all that shit. Ryan paused, considering this, and fuck, he definitely knew. When he'd jotted it down on a calendar, though, he hadn't slept with Brendon, and therefore the crush was still 'tiny stupid crush I'll get over' and not 'unavoidable deep-seated affection for my boss.' "You're right. Y'know, I could cancel if you're more interested in sticking around," he half-joked, sounding - and looking - a lot more confident than he really felt. He was pretty sure he hadn't even used the word 'date.' Since he'd probably want one himself one day once he was done being scared to tell Brendon he genuinely liked him for reasons beyond the way he looked, he made the vaguest allusion to it, avoiding looking at Brendon in case he showed disgust in his face or something.

What, like handcuffs? Ryan was pretty sure this was what people meant when they said their heart stopped, all dramatic. He tried to hide his instantaneous cringe, pursing his lips and bowing his head. See, this is what happened when he went out on a limb. Sure, darling, just let me know what you’re into. He closed his eyes tight, wondering how the hell he was going to play this off like he really did mean he wanted to be more sexually adventurous when his implication was actually that they try exclusivity. Kind of impossible. "Yeah, you know, whatever," he mumbled, glad that his still sleepy-sounding voice hid the way his voice nearly broke with nerves. "Glad we're on the same page." Apparently he could still muster up a sense of humor about the unbelievably messy circumstances. He started slowly pulling on clothes, praying maybe Brendon would find some sort of change of heart or realize he'd misunderstood Ryan.

Oh, fuck, almost forgot. New suit, wearing it on this uh, date- got it tailored, sent it to be finished- will you pick it up for me later? Thanks. Ryan felt briefly angry again with no rationale behind it - after all he was just as responsible for this brief lapse in their "professional" relationship as Brendon was, so there was no reason to be upset with him for bringing them back to where they should be anyway. As it were, he still set his jaw, trying to draw himself from his mood. And it didn't really work. "Sure, of course," he said carefully, moving closer to Brendon gradually. Brendon hadn't quite tamed his hair despite all the effort put into it, and Ryan really thought he'd kept it in his imagination but he actually reached up to smooth his hair into place, back to the perfect state it could usually be found in. "A suit on a first date. Seems like a pretty big deal. What are you gonna do?" His voice was low, partially trying to stay controlled when he was close enough to take one step, lean in, and kiss him. Mostly, though, he was apparently masochistic, completely fueling his own dumb jealousy by asking.

Brendon was suddenly certain that over the past fifteen minutes his brain had short circuited and was making decisions that were supported by, what- one spontaneous night? He was no stranger at all to these types of situations- he woke up beside a usual stranger, declothed, with only hazy memories of the night previous and no passion or attraction left in his blood from whatever he and that stranger had shared in a single evening. There were people who gave him their number- he never gave them his- and those who expected him to actually call, but though he had broken his fair share of hearts in his turbulent romantic history (if you could call it that), most people who engaged with in that way knew what they were in for, and they didn’t care. Those were the people who turned him off anything serious- those who, though he was considerably attractive, only found his fame and household name appealing, those who could tell their friends that they slept with Brendon Blake, and those that thought they could sell that story even though such similar tales cropped up so often that not even the trashiest magazine would buy them. After those, when the person tended to walk about before he even got the chance to tell them to leave, he felt vulnerable, worthless. But he had thick skin- or he was good at faking it.

He figured this was different because they’d made a little bit of an actual connection, both a working one and even the beginnings of a close friendship. His brain, unused to such experiences and relationships, had misinterpreted what should have been a meaningless night into something more because it had nothing to compare to. Last night had been meaningless. Brendon just didn’t want to go to bed alone, and yes, he still thought Ryan was gorgeous. But it wasn’t like he actually liked him. Coming to that conclusion, he exhaled, relieved, and having successfully severed the potential of emotional ties with physical intimacy, he found himself a lot more comfortable in this situation. So he flirted, but Ryan didn’t seem to get or appreciate it, so he shrugged his shoulders up and down, before immediately trying again. See, once Brendon thought he was no longer in danger of making himself even slightly vulnerable, all former misgivings and caution went out of the window- he was even considering stepping over his line of not sleeping with the same person twice, because... Well. Ryan was both available and Brendon was still watching replays whenever he blinked, half annoying and distracting him, half making him want to get back into bed beside him like Ryan had suggested just now.

Anytime. Brendon smirked, liking the sound of that. Then, in the same heartbeat, he cut immediately to professionalism, reminding Ryan of his calendar and an event on it that could be regarded as sensitive considering their current situation. He noticed Ryan’s expression change and his lips part, but couldn’t see the problem; raising an eyebrow, he waited for a moment to see if his assistant had anything to say. After a few moments, he cleared his throat and turned back to the mirror again, frustrated with his disobedient hair. You’re right. Y’know, I could cancel if you’re more interested in sticking around. Brendon folded his arms loosely across his chest and turned in Ryan’s direction, interested. ”Only if you’re still up for that round two,” He said in a low, playful tone, before turning back to the mirror. ”Nah, seriously. I’m thinking about it. Why bother go out, see another person and have to go through the whole date process to get laid, when I have better and easier options?” Indirect, but obvious. Brendon wasn’t very tactful sometimes.

An example of this came again pretty soon when Ryan suggested they go steady and Brendon misinterpreted that as asking to be a little more adventurous. It was obvious what dominated Brendon’s mind most of the time. This was why he played along so readily, even impressed by what he thought to be stepping away from the vanilla cutout that Brendon had kind of seen him to be. Yeah, you know, whatever. ”Don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, baby. Bit late for that, right?” Glad we’re on the same page. Nodding with evident enthusiasm, he watched, disappointed but not surprised, as Ryan began to get dressed again and stand up from the edge of the bed. Since he was apparently getting ready to leave anyway, leading Brendon to believe Ryan wasn’t going to take up his offer for round two, he decided to take that opportunity and get the errands run that he needed completing. Most important- the suit. It was black velvet, printed appliqué flower design- white shirt, no tie. He tried it on once and felt in love with it. Ryan better be careful with it.

Sure, of course. Brendon had given up on his endeavour to fix his bedhead in the bedroom mirror, and was about to head into the bathroom to style it properly, but Ryan was approaching and he tried not to tense, just watching incredulously as Ryan actually reached out and smoothed a strand of Brendon’s hair back into place. He didn’t have time to step out of the way and just raised his eyebrows immediately, as if to ask him what the hell he was doing. That was too gentle for his liking. Because he was feeling generous, he chose to not immediately yell at him, and just tilted his head. ”Please don’t do that again. You either pull it, or don’t touch it. No inbetween,” He pointed out, serious, but the corner of his mouth curving up into a smile to save the mood. He at least had the courtesy then to hear whatever he was going to say next.

A suit on the first date. Seems like a pretty big deal. ”We’re going to some fancy restaurant,” Brendon responded quickly, not liking the height difference and adoring it at the same time as he had to look up to meet his eyes. ”And for your information, it’s a very fucking nice suit. And you get the privilege of seeing me in it first, if you so wish.” Of course he did. What are you gonna do? ”Like I just said. Restaurant- remember that one where you yelled at me for spending $25 on a sandwich from the lunch menu? Yeah.” He paused and grinned then, thoughts wondering. ”Then, hopefully, the lucky girl will get lucky, just like you did. Don’t worry, don’t get jealous. There’s enough of me to go around, has been for years.”

Ryan knew it was naïve to believe Brendon might possibly stick behind just because he asked nicely. It's not like any of this was a real reflection of Brendon's character - Ryan couldn't blame him for something he'd been used to his entire life, something that was a learned and natural behavior that he didn't know any other way to go about. That didn't mean it wasn't frustrating as all hell, though. Partially, Ryan believed he was kind of obvious enough that Brendon would just notice and take pity on his petty infatuation, or if he didn't want to, then it was pretty easy to just have rejected him before they'd slept together and saved Ryan some grief. But. That was a lot to expect of someone, really, and Ryan had never said a word about any of it - not to mention the fact that he gladly went along with the proposition the night before after a lot of waffling around.

Even so, he kept on trying, no longer all that focused on the answer and more attentive to how Brendon's face changed and his body language. Only if you’re still up for that round two. Still just seemed like he was amused by all of this. Ryan frowned at his back when he turned away, narrowing his eyes to train his gaze out the window. It was easier to try and turn sadness into anger in theory, but the more he tried, the more he realized there was really no way to put reason behind being mad at Brendon. He just kept on thinking about how he'd never had any kind of emotional ties with anyone, probably not even really his family, and so it kept on making sense why he pushed people away (even Ryan). More than anything Ryan was kind of mad at everyone and everything that played a part in making him like that.

Nah, seriously. I’m thinking about it. Why bother go out, see another person and have to go through the whole date process to get laid, when I have better and easier options? Ryan brought his attention back from the window, tilting his head curiously. "Easier?" Ryan asked, amused - completely skimming over the 'better' part - and then shrugged a little. "Guess you're right. I was here, like, twenty minutes at most, before." He smiled slightly, less uneasily, 'cause although it was embarrassing as hell and kind of hurt his pride to admit, it was getting gradually easier to take everything less seriously. And somehow the way that Brendon could approach all this semi-playfully took some of the edge off; his natural liveliness radiated off of him. Ryan wondered how genuine it was at the moment, though, if maybe he could sense the tension from Ryan himself and was impacted in some way. Probably not - Ryan had always seen him as untouchable anyhow, entirely unfazed.

Don’t get all fuckin’ shy on me now, baby. Bit late for that, right? Ryan couldn't help looking hopeful again at the use of what appeared to be his new pet name, an expectant smile touching his features uncontrollably. He bowed his head to hide what was probably the most guileless expression ever, occupying himself with redressing, because letting Brendon on to even more knowledge of the effect he had on Ryan was probably not a good idea. There was nothing to do with it, really, but he knew he'd feel an even heavier imbalance of power here if Brendon got that satisfaction while he was still stuck feeling entirely displaced. He tried to play it back regardless, his sense of humor not really up to par at the moment but engaged anyway. "Shy? I'll remind you I was the top," he said brazenly, standing straighter and arching an eyebrow at Brendon. Kind of funny to use that defense when he'd been very much the more docile of the two of them this morning, but.

As if to counter that fact, he moved forward to fix Brendon's uncharacteristic bedhead, which was very obviously not received well. Truthfully, Ryan expected nothing less; part of his approach stemmed from him just wanting to act on impulses he'd had countless times before, part was because it would definitely annoy Brendon and he couldn't come up with another way to match how irritating Brendon had been thus far. Lucky for him, Brendon didn't immediately snap - though maybe getting anger, some kind of emotion, would have been better than not. Please don’t do that again. You either pull it, or don’t touch it. No inbetween. Ryan knew the one he was looking at was a forced smile but he still grinned back, more comfortably than he ever had since he'd woken up, and returned his hand still hovering back to just briefly tug a few strands whilst replacing them, then dropping it. "Happy? I'll do better later." So it kind of hurt his chest. But he was getting better at playing along, somewhat. "Besides, I fixed it. You look cute." There's a new one - let him subsist off of 'cute' rather than other, more grandiose terms. Maybe Ryan could coax him into some sense of normalcy.

We’re going to some fancy restaurant. Disinterested - or willing himself to be disinterested, anyway - Ryan blinked and bowed his head to start buttoning his shirt, disengaged with whatever tangent Brendon may go off on. And for your information, it’s a very fucking nice suit. And you get the privilege of seeing me in it first, if you so wish. "Privilege." Ryan had just looped through the middle button when he glanced up to roll his eyes at Brendon. But he was pretty much right; Ryan would actually love that. Not that he'd admit it, anymore. Like I just said. Restaurant- remember that one where you yelled at me for spending $25 on a sandwich from the lunch menu? Ryan nodded absently, still mostly making sure he hadn't missed a button somewhere and messed up the entire arrangement. Yeah. Then, hopefully, the lucky girl will get lucky, just like you did. Although he, too, had pretty much touched every base, Ryan sort of cracked up at the words 'lucky girl,' even more amused by the thought of Brendon in any vaguely heterosexual situation than he was by Brendon's arrogance with 'just like you did.'

Don’t worry, don’t get jealous. There’s enough of me to go around, has been for years. Ryan pursed his lips and raised his chin a bit while he finished the second-to-topmost button, becoming conscious of their height difference himself when he briefly could barely keep Brendon in sight. To fix the problem he tipped a finger under Brendon's chin for half a second to encourage him looking up, bowing his head in counterpoint, and admittedly he may have lost his already thin patience a little. "'Don't get jealous,' my -" Ryan broke off, deciding he was less bothered by how Brendon's words implicated Ryan than he was by how Brendon was sort of, probably unintentionally, degrading himself. "Okay, but, you don't have to keep giving yourself away. It's not safe, first of all, and you've clearly deprived yourself of any emotional connection..." He trailed off, questioning how welcome his input was, and decided probably not at all. Too late. "And, yeah, deprived yourself. If you let anyone in then you'd know that you're -" Ryan paused again, throwing a shoulder up as if he hadn't been thinking this forever, as if it was a new passing thought. "That you're worth caring about, I guess. And not just enough to go around."

Ryan instantly felt the weight of a very poor decision and backed off after a moment of mulling it over, looking around the room. "Shit, I'll go. I'm sorry," he said with clarity, finding his coat where he'd laid it out and hanging it over his forearm. In what was evidently a rush to get the hell out of there before Brendon, like, sicked his dad on him or something, Ryan stopped, looking at him uncertainly. He didn't really wanna leave in case Brendon just spiralled because of him. "Fire me, or whatever. I just wanted to say that to you, once."

Easier? Well, yeah. Brendon went through about fifteen different moods a day at lightning speed- so if at one moment, like right then, the morning after sleeping with his employee, he was feeling a certain way, it was hardly likely he’d be in the same mood at his date in the evening. And that was the only reason Brendon went on dates; he always asked the questions, dodged questions that were too personal that were aimed at him, and always took them back to his apartment and never agreed to go back to theirs (he felt more comfortable on familiar ground). There was that, and keeping his parents relatively happy about his non-existent ‘love’ life. He knew his mother thought he just needed someone- more specifically, a woman- to level him out, mellow him a little. Brendon neither wanted anything serious, nor did he really want anything of that nature with a woman. Still, he was only just beginning to come to that conscious realisation, so in the meantime he took out anyone who was pretty and thought he was pretty.

”Easier,” He confirmed, raising an eyebrow as if daring him to question it. Anyway, it wasn’t like that hadn’t been paired with a compliment. Guess you’re right. I was here, like, twenty minutes at most, before. Brendon was amused by his admittance and didn’t even smirk. ”It took me less than twenty minutes to seduce you. It took five minutes or less of flirting to get you quite easily into my bed,” He argued anyway, stepping closer to the mirror after he turned away and examining the lilac shadows under his eyes. Frowning, he carded a hand through his hair and rolled his shoulders back in a shrug, straightening his spine, before turning on his heels to absently watch Ryan redress. Disappointing, he silently mused, he had plenty of time this morning. Shy? I’ll remind you I was the top. Instantly, that coaxed a slightly indignant laugh, and he almost stepped backwards, surprised by his brazenness. Of course, he wasn’t wrong, but would Brendon ever admit it outside the situation itself? No. ”Yeah, Whatever. You did that time.” That sounded like a promise, but it was empty, and Ryan probably knew it. He smiled like there was some kind of in-joke.

Apparently Ryan was having a streak of boldness, as moments later the taller man had cleared the space between them and what reached out to attempt to fix the problem that was ruining Brendon’s morning. His hair, that refused to cooperate. The contact stunned him and he had to root himself in the ground to stop himself from moving smartly backwards- instead, he just remained still, and issued a half-warning, half-flirt. To his surprise, Ryan did tug firmly on a few loose strands, and Brendon had to stop himself leaning in closer. Happy? I’ll do better later. He hoped that wasn’t an empty promise. Besides, I fixed it. You look cute. Brendon scoffed, turning back towards the mirror and examining his hair. Huh. Not bad. Maybe he’d have to employ Ryan also as his hairstylist. Still, he didn’t appreciate the ‘cute’- so he made no response save a steely silence that hopefully spoke volumes.

Funny how, after Ryan asked about it, Brendon started talking and he acted all disinterested. Brendon saw through him and rolled his eyes, but kept talking anyway. Privilege. ”Yes. It’s an even more exclusive list than ‘people who have seen me naked’, or ‘people who know my middle name’. Saying that, the first one is actually not that exclusive.” Offhand self-depreciation was his speciality, apparently, and he laughed, at his own expense. ”You’ll be on two out of three of those lists. No, I’m not telling you my middle name.” When he turned back, Ryan was still standing close, and Brendon was annoyed by the height difference between them and how he had to look up when Ryan spoke to him- but saying that, when Ryan tilted his chin up, he had to quell the urge to kiss him. Stupid and senseless, he told himself- unjustified. Don’t be an idiot, Brendon. ‘Don’t get jealous’, my- What? What was Ryan saying? That he wasn’t jealous, or that he was? Brendon honestly wasn’t sure which he’d prefer.

Okay, but you don’t have to keep giving yourself away. What? That was a change of tune, and Brendon didn’t like it. His eyes darkened- what gave him the right? He wanted to push him backwards, move him the hell away, but he held his ground. ”Give myself away? I’m not a fucking nun, asshole! Nor have I ever been anybody’s fuckin’ property.” It’s not safe, first of all, and you’ve clearlt deprived yourself of emotional connection... That he had heard before. ”Save it. Jesus, what is it with you people? Has it ever occurred to any of you that maybe I don’t want or need an ‘emotional connection’?” Well, he did, everyone did, but Brendon was stubborn to the end and to back up his argument he’d lie about whatever he pleased. And, yeah, deprived yourself. If you let anyone in then you’d know that you’re- that you’re worth caring about, I guess. And not just enough to go around.

Brendon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. It had taken, what, five minutes to undermine this guy’s apparent ‘morals’, five minutes for this guy to readily sleep with him, and now he was lecturing him about the safety and morality of his personal, intimate life that had nothing to do with him? And lecturing him about his personal connections? Brendon was furious, and he stepped back, completely affronted and out for blood. ”Holy shit, you’re the biggest fucking hypocrite I’ve ever met,” He marvelled, looking him disdainfully up and down. ”It’s not safe? I shouldn’t give myself away? What are you, a priest? Oh, and it’s funny how you only say that after you had sex with me. It’s only relevant when I don’t want you any more. You should know me well enough that-“ He paused, dragging his hands down his face and turning his back on Ryan. ”-that I don’t- I can’t- make connections that easily. I thought you understood that. I pretty much raised myself, Ryan, I think I’m fine on my own.”

Shit, I’ll go. I’m sorry. That was the first good decision Ryan has made this morning. Brendon said nothing. He looked hurt, because that’s what he was, above all; he had trusted Ryan not to judge him and here he was, saying exactly what he thought. He was just like everyone else- thought Brendon was hedonistic and superficial and incapable of caring about other people. This is why he tried not to in the first place. Fire me, or whatever. I just wanted to say that to you, once. Brendon shook his head, at a loss, still angry and upset and simultaneously wanting Ryan to leave him the fuck alone and wanting him to grovel at his damn feet. ”Why?”

Easier. It took me less than twenty minutes to seduce you. It took five minutes or less of flirting to get you quite easily into my bed. If Ryan had somehow been naïve enough not to know already that Brendon's initial invitation had an ulterior motive behind it, this just confirmed it. He sounded like he scored a point on a video game, or something. Ryan would probably be angrier about it if he wasn't still feeling lucky as hell to even have surpassed the platonic/"business casual" phase, although it wasn't quite his dream of being in something closer to a romantic relationship with Brendon. And that, conveniently enough, was the exact reason that it took less than twenty minutes to seduce him, and five minutes or less to get him into bed. Typically Ryan would prefer not to entertain either of those things, so Brendon certainly had a unique effect.

Ryan was pretty pleased with the fact that he could finally muster up the boldness to actually garner a genuine reaction from Brendon. Usually it was something Brendon clearly had to make an effort to respond to - 'cause he was either too boring or Brendon was that detached - but in this case he got a laugh, affronted. Yeah, Whatever. You did that time. Ryan paused, contemplating this, and determined that it was so incredibly unlikely a premise that Brendon must be joking. When he saw Brendon's distinguished smile his suspicions were confirmed and he returned the same little grin, what was originally just a dumb dirty joke having become this bizarre shared moment. To him, anyway. Maybe he was just reading in too much to the different 'look' to Brendon's expression, or something. It was nice to entertain these silly passing fantasies, anyhow.

Brendon was quickly back to acting however it could be deemed when he pretended Ryan retrieving his suit and thusly naturally being the first to see him in it was some sort of glory to be thankful for. Which, okay, Ryan was actually a little bit enthusiastic about, but he'd admit that when he was cold and dead. He had good reason - not just his laughable infatuation, but Brendon wore any suit like it was made for him exclusively. So, a new one was a pretty exciting event. Yes. It’s an even more exclusive list than ‘people who have seen me naked’, or ‘people who know my middle name’. Saying that, the first one is actually not that exclusive. Ryan looked dubious of 'the first one' in question before Brendon even corrected himself. He grinned lopsidedly at the clarification, shaking his head at his buttons to portray his (joking, as far as he wanted Brendon to know) disapproval.

You’ll be on two out of three of those lists. No, I’m not telling you my middle name. Ryan wondered if this was a bad time to tell Brendon that he knew a lot about him that he hadn't told him firsthand, just 'cause he was apparently Brendon's biggest fan (in running with Twitter frequenters and maybe some reporters looking for a raise). Most likely. He decided to keep this information to himself, especially since Brendon was nice enough not to call him 'George' as it was written, for legal reasons unfortunately, on every paycheck. "I'm so lucky," he sighed, faux-dreamily, and tried to look unaffected, but the corner of his mouth was twitched into a tiny amused smirk.

As soon as the conversation went beyond this, though, Ryan knew he'd made a mistake. He watched Brendon's face change and vaguely wondered how much better the situation would be if he'd only left right after waking up. They'd have made up at some point, surely. Give myself away? I’m not a fucking nun, asshole! Nor have I ever been anybody’s fuckin’ property. It wasn't what he meant at all, but the miscommunication made sense considering a.) Ryan never really got anything across the way he wanted to and b.) despite thinking about these things for a considerable amount of time, he'd never intended on actually saying it aloud to be comprehensible. Save it. Jesus, what is it with you people? Has it ever occurred to any of you that maybe I don’t want or need an ‘emotional connection’? Ryan's gaze flicked around, feeling cornered after his brief courageous streak, and he figured that was a fair point. He'd just be a straight-up villain if he tried to force Brendon into feeling things he didn't. Maybe it was true that he was just immune to all the emotional intimacy cravings other people experienced - Ryan could certainly only dream of avoiding that, personally.

Holy shit, you’re the biggest fucking hypocrite I’ve ever met. Feeling small suddenly, he withered under Brendon's gaze, realizing only now the unsteady foundation he'd built his argument on and easing off as a result. It’s not safe? I shouldn’t give myself away? What are you, a priest? Maybe a little. He was about as preachy and pretentious as one. Ryan could've sighed at himself. Oh, and it’s funny how you only say that after you had sex with me. It’s only relevant when I don’t want you any more. "That's not how it is," he cut in instantly, but not loudly enough to cut Brendon off despite the pure conviction in his voice. You should know me well enough that- that I don’t- I can’t- make connections that easily. I thought you understood that. I pretty much raised myself, Ryan, I think I’m fine on my own.

Ryan stared, disbelieving, as Brendon turned away from him, but his heart sunk a little at the sight of him looking so stressed out. He'd never seen it before, actually. "It's always been relevant," he corrected belatedly, looking somewhat stunned still. "I - Brendon, you called me at three in the morning because you were alone. It's okay if you can't make the connection easily so long as you make one at all." His tone was slower, more patient, mostly because he was trying to get Brendon out of defense mode. This version of him was more than a little bit intimidating. He knew he must sound so possessive or just selfish, unintentionally making the implication that this connection be with him, but he was afraid if he talked more while trying to explain that it could be with anyone, he'd just make another point beyond messily. He was already walking a pretty thin rope, here.

It was basically nonexistent, though, once he saw the expression on Brendon's face, hurt and betrayed and nothing like what Ryan was used to seeing. If Brendon was like most other people, he could break the distance, come close and hold him flush to his own body and kiss the heartbreak away like some oversold romance novel, whatever. As it were, Ryan had already confirmed that any affection he might want so desperately to show Brendon would be automatically rejected or received with disgust. It was no fault of his own; clearly it was just the way he kept safe. Or, in Brendon's words, how he raised himself. Why? Not expecting to get to this point (but then he hadn't expected the last 24 hours at all), Ryan adopted a deer caught in headlights look, lips parting unsurely and eyes widening slightly. He racked his brain for an excuse, but came up empty-handed. "I - I don't know. Just, it'd be nice to see you... opening up, and being happy and comfortable enough with someone to do that. Fulfilled. I don't know." Now he was stammering; great. At least he could pride himself on the fact that he hadn't admitted to any stupid feelings that clearly weren't something Brendon was ready for.

He barely let a pause go by before continuing, consumed by something like guilt. "I'm sorry, it just - it didn't come out right. I didn't mean to sound like I was... judging, or whatever. I just worry, I guess," he murmured, voice quieter, because he knew it really wasn't his business to worry - except only on a professional level. But that would only be fair if he approached it professionally, too, which he definitely did not do.

Brendon was fully aware of most things about him on the internet. He didn’t read all the articles, but he got the gist from the headlines; he knew about his weird amount of fans considering he didn’t really have a career besides going live on Instagram and singing, going to rich people’s parties, the occasional modelling job when he could be bothered and endorsing different fashion designers when his mother bothered him about actually doing something ‘productive’ with his time. He was a celebrity by birth, he had been in the spotlight since he was young and didn’t remember anything else but cameras and news stories and speculation about his private life that wasn’t really private anymore. Still, it wasn’t like he minded- in fact, he loved the attention that came with having his own vast group of admirers, those who had a hopeless, common crush on the handsome playboy son of a billionaire. He had once actually slept with the chairperson of his official ‘fan club’ (nobody would ever believe them anyway). Brendon was aware of his online presence and he’d stopped caring what people thought about him a while ago- as long as it was about him, what was the problem?

To be that offhand was easier said than done, though, and there were some things on his Wikipedia page of all places that he didn’t even know were up there. His middle name, for example- he had never told anyone that, but somehow it was up there anyway. So he had no idea that Ryan was on all three lists he’d just mentioned. Embarrassing, considering he’d only known Ryan for a few months- but then Ryan was also now one of his closest friends. So he wouldn’t really mind that much. I’m so lucky. Brendon nodded in agreement, even though when it came down to it, it really wasn’t that difficult to get in his bed. Still. Quality and quantity could, contrary to believe, exist side by side. ”Very, darlin’.” He said softly, after a moment, returning Ryan’s slight smirk. ”Oh, by the way, uh. You’ve got hickeys. You’re welcome.” He mused, eyeing Ryan’s neck where purple and grey bruises had started to flower under his pale skin. Brendon felt a strange rush, and a tiny part of him wished he had something to show, too.

That longing quickly evaporated, because not moments later Brendon was livid, and couldn’t believe the words coming out of Ryan’s mouth because they were hat hypocritical and shortsighted. His jaw slackened momentarily as he swallowed and then he tensed it again, keeping himself calm only long enough for Ryan to get out his last couple of words. Then, he retaliated, quickly and venomously- he was angry, but he was also upset; he now knew that Ryan thought him heartless and though he always insisted he didn’t care, that bothered him. A lot. Which is why in his argument he didn’t hold back, and watched almost triumphantly as Ryan started to wither under the forcefulness and spite in his tone. That’s not how it is. Brendon scoffed. “How is it not? If you actually cared so much about my safety or integrity or whatever, you wouldn’t have, y’know, fucked me last night,” He pointed out, his voice scathing, his knuckles white by his sides. ”The only reason you’re saying that is you’re disappointed I didn’t intend for us to cook breakfast in our underwear or whatever bullshit fantasy you’re playing out in your mind.”

Brendon was stressed and high-strung and he turned, letting his breath catch in his throat. It’s always been relevant. He wasn’t really listening anymore- he just shook his head. He felt like he was being scolded by his dad about his reckless behaviour, or being patronised by his mom about his lack of meaningful emotional connections. Ryan was supposed to be his friend, and in his experience, a friend was someone who backed him no matter what and did whatever he wanted them to do. It explained a lot about him. I - Brendon, you called me at three in the morning because you were alone. Presumptious. Brendon rolled his eyes and dragged his hands down his face, clenching his jaw again briefly. ”Ryan,” He responded, exasperated, ”I called you at 3 in the morning because I intended on sleeping with you. It’s not a difficult leap. It could have been practically anyone else- you were at the top of my recent contact list.” It’s okay if you can’t make the connection easily so long as you make one at all. Ryan sounded like Brendon’s mom, and he felt a little sick.

He’d calmed down slightly- as in, he wasn’t yelling anymore- and he turned around, heading over to a convenient half-full bottle of red wine he’d left on a table and not even bothering to use a nearby glass. He just chugged, very gracefully, then swallowed, setting it down with a grimace. Honestly, he just wanted to be left alone so he could cope with this perceived personal attack by himself. I - I don't know. Just, it'd be nice to see you... opening up, and being happy and comfortable enough with someone to do that. Fulfilled. I don't know. Brendon paused, and for a moment he desperately wished that he understood what the hell Ryan meant. ”I keep myself fulfilled, Ryan,” He murmured testily, indicating towards the wine and then raising an eyebrow. ”Material pleasure is fulfilling for me. Last night was a handy refill.” Brendon turned around again, finally, leaving the bottle on the table and facing his assistant warily. He just wanted him to go home.

I'm sorry, it just - it didn't come out right. I didn't mean to sound like I was... judging, or whatever. I just worry, I guess. Brendon moved around him and sat back in his bed, pushing the velvet throw off the side onto the floor and settling down into the silk. ”You don’t have to worry, Ryan. I’m not your boyfriend and I never will be. You just have to do what I tell you to do- and I’m asking you, no, telling you, to get the fuck out. I’m not going to fire you, but I might kill you.”

Very, darlin’. Ryan could've died. Darlin'. He'd had more heart beats in the past twenty-four hours than he'd had his whole life. Oh, by the way, uh. You’ve got hickeys. You’re welcome. Ryan looked at him curiously then turned to the mirror on the wall Brendon was so often occupied with, stretching up just enough to see the bruises in question. He placed his fingertips over them lightly, like he was painting the colours himself, and remembered every sensation all at once. His expression softened without his conscious control, smiling a little at the thought that Brendon would be with him even when he wasn't really there because of these. And, sure, hickeys were trashy, but he kind of adored how they looked on him when Brendon was responsible. Ryan relaxed, dropping his gaze from the mirror and smiling down at his hands while he tried to at least look distracted.

Ryan had a knack for ruining moments like that in record speed, however, and this was exactly what he did. How is it not? If you actually cared so much about my safety or integrity or whatever, you wouldn’t have, y’know, fucked me last night. Ryan's brow furrowed, utterly confused by how they could be on such different pages here. Then, his input wasn't really invited in the first place, so it's not like they'd ever been on the same track. The only reason you’re saying that is you’re disappointed I didn’t intend for us to cook breakfast in our underwear or whatever bullshit fantasy you’re playing out in your mind. Embarrassed, Ryan's face flushed slightly, and he shook his head dismissively. "No, Brendon. I do care. I just don't intend on hurting you, so I didn't think I was infringing on your safety or integrity or whatever. Can't say the same for everyone else who ends up here." It was a little late for that, though, because he evidently already had hurt Brendon without meaning to.

The worst part was, he'd probably been one of the few people Brendon didn't think would ever do that. Ryan felt a wave of frustration with himself before shaking it off, focusing on the situation at hand. "And - and that's not my fantasy, don't be so goddamn arrogant." Although Brendon had a fair point. Ryan was a little bit of a fairytale writer in his head. Ryan, I called you at 3 in the morning because I intended on sleeping with you. Ryan paused, blinking at him, expression gone blank. It’s not a difficult leap. It could have been practically anyone else- you were at the top of my recent contact list. Anyone else. The mental fairytale was dead by now, they were just beating it with sticks. Ryan opened his mouth as if to respond but immediately closed it again, at a loss. "Okay, well," he said softly, hesitant. "I'm sorry it wasn't someone better, then." He really needed to get home.

Ryan watched him chug down wine, trying to conceal the worry on his otherwise tired face. Sometimes he really hated that Brendon drank when he wasn't just partying - and this time Ryan was the cause. I keep myself fulfilled, Ryan. Ryan followed his gesture and frowned, bowing his shaking head. Material pleasure is fulfilling for me. Last night was a handy refill. "Glad I'm convenient enough for you," he said calculatedly, knowing all of this was way too guilt-trippy when Brendon was probably not knowingly toying with his feelings and it was just his routine, but. It was all unfamiliar territory for Ryan, too, and half the things coming out of his mouth had little thought behind them. He turned to watch as Brendon returned to his bed, clearly already exhausted by the day's events so early on.

You don’t have to worry, Ryan. I’m not your boyfriend and I never will be. Ryan stared at him, stunned by how quickly he'd known, and also by how much he didn't care at all how Ryan felt. He'd maybe appreciated having been rejected more carefully. No such luck. Anyway, the statement itself was nothing to be mad about; Ryan hadn't asked or anything, but it was Brendon's choice nevertheless. He was just let down by how Brendon was acting about it. You just have to do what I tell you to do- and I’m asking you, no, telling you, to get the fuck out. I’m not going to fire you, but I might kill you. "You have about as much compassion as a brick fucking wall, you know," Ryan mumbled, feeling silly saying all of this while still looking like he was caught in the midst of a walk of shame. "Fine. I'll go. Next time you could let someone down easy. Just saying." He took his sweet time walking to the door, checking his pockets along the way to ensure all was there. "I know you're not familiar with the concept of, like, friendship, but I'm still going to worry even if I'm not your boyfriend. Thought I should clue you in." And he still cared despite the arguing, but it was kinda bad timing to admit that.